The Blind Date
by malibustacy
Summary: AU, Post-WWII Chicago. Katniss as an ex-Rosie the Riveter, Peeta as a soldier returning home. Romance ensues. Major AU, historical, and sometimes OOC. May get steamy eventually.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I wrote this originally for the Prompts in Panem challenge on Tumblr, but my one shot decided to turn into a multi-chapter story, so I decided to continue it here. I based the story on how my grandparents actually met after WWII while living in Chicago. Some of the locations are real, but some I made up. While writing it, I realized that parts of it sounded like parts of "The Notebook," but I promise it's based on a real life story with my own fictionalized parts added. And a Hunger Games twist.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Hunger Games characters, plot, or dialogue. This is just for fun.

The clock struck 5:00 and a light bell rang through the corridors. I looked up from the wires and small metal pieces all around my work space and cracked my knuckles. Another day, another week gone by, another paycheck. I slipped on my shoes that I had kicked under my stool hours ago, and grabbed my bag and hat.

"Thank God today's over," I heard one the girls say. "I can't wait until I meet someone and can finally leave this job!"

Her brunette friend nodded. "I know. Did you hear about Glimmer? Bobby Marvel FINALLY popped the question, and they're getting married next month! And her dress is just divine…" She went on to describe some ridiculous combination of silk and lace, and I was happy to ignore her. Glimmer was just another example of a coworker biting the dust.

I didn't mind the work. I actually looked forward to it, felt pride from it. Or at least, I used to. Heck, I was originally hired to weld Army jeep parts, then moved up to the bombers, and I reveled in the importance of my work. For the past three years, I had been doing a man's job, earning a man's salary, and providing a decent lifestyle for my sister and mother. But now that the war was over, the excitement of making war equipment was long gone. We were now making generic old house phones, and I was demoted (or, as Capital Electric management called it, "relocated") to an all-woman's workroom, where my "little hands" were better suited for small equipment. As more men came home, my pay was cut, my hours shortened, ("Got to give the boys their jobs back, ladies") and I was told to "dress properly" – in a skirt or dress, not the comfortable overalls we had been used to ("Let's remind the boys what they were fighting for!"). I watched more and more women leave their jobs, either to go back to being housewives, or, as many put it, to "find a nice soldier and marry him." I laughed under my breath at that last thought. I would never get married, and that bastard Coriolanus Snow would have to come down from his top floor office and fire me himself before I quit.

As I walked out of the elevator, I saw my good friend Annie emerge from another. Annie slipped her arm through mine as we walked out under the giant Capital Electric sign that hung over the doorway, venting its thousands of workers into the city streets. "It's Friday night! What-cha doing tonight, Katty?" she sang to me in her sweet voice.

I glanced at her knowing smile and I knew exactly where this was going. "First of all, don't call me Katty, and second, I'm going home to read a good book and NOT go on your date as a wingman."

Annie laughed, her dark curls bouncing down her back. "Alright, _Katniss_. Is this because of Cato? I swear, Finnick told me he was a nice guy! He goes to confession every Saturday and everything."

I snorted. "Did Finnick mention that he liked to grope girls on the train? Did he tell his priest THAT one? I'm sorry, Annie, but I'm not falling for another blind date. You'll just have to find someone else to set up with Finnick's lousy bar friends."

I started walking a little faster towards the corner, thinking that if I don't catch the first bus, I'll have to wait half an hour along with the crowd of other workers. And during that time, Annie would definitely convince me to go on her date tonight.

"Wait, Katniss, wait, this one's different." I give her an I-don't-believe-it turn of my head. "No really, he grew up with Finnick. He just got back from Germany like a week ago."

"Great, so he's all battered and traumatized? I'm not playing nurse to a broken soldier." I could hear the words coming out as I said them, and I knew I sounded crass and rude. I knew too many boys from my neighborhood that came back broken men, unable to sleep, afraid of fireworks, yelling at their mothers at the dinner table. I knew it wasn't their fault, and I knew that whatever happened over there must have been awful. For a second, my thoughts went to one neighborhood boy that didn't come home, but I quickly shook the idea from my mind.

"Katniss, he's fine. Really, he's been over there helping out with POWs and people from the camps. He's a medic. They made him stay to help out with the recovery effort. He's a war hero, you know. Written up in the paper and everything."

Even better, a war hero. Someone who would brag about their good deeds on the battlefield and wear their medal around town. "Good for him, I'm glad he came home. Not my problem, though."

"Come on, sweetheart," Annie cooed as she rested her head on my shoulder. Uh-oh, Annie was pulling out all the stops. "Please, for me? You do owe me, you know?"

Crap, I did owe Annie. A few weeks ago, Prim got sick and needed to be picked up from school. The school had called my manager at work, and I had already gotten an evil glare from him just for that. I was terrified to leave work early, especially after being "relocated" and my paycheck cut. Girls were getting fired left and right for the littlest offenses, like talking too much or going to the bathroom more than once a day. Annie knew how important my job was, and how much I worried about Prim. So when I told her my problem, she walked right up to our manager Mr. Cray, and told him, loudly, that she had "women's problems" and that she needed to have sick time immediately. Cray, forever disgusted and fearful of women and their monthly "problem," sent her off straight away with a warning to "don't let it happen again." We all snickered at the thought of being able to control our menstrual cycles, and Annie winked at me as she walked off. When I got home, Annie was still with Prim, wiping her brow with a washcloth and making her smile with stories of how she met Finnick at the beach, and how handsome he looked in his Navy uniform.

I did owe her. Double crap.

"Fine," I sighed. Annie bounced up and down and clapped her hands. "Where and when?"

"Umm, the Aragon," Annie practically whispered as she turned her head away from me.

A bus pulled up but I didn't even bother fighting the crowd to get on. "What?! The Aragon? Are you kidding me? Annie, I'm not going dancing." The Aragon was a spectacular ballroom on the North Side, ridiculously extravagant, loud, overcrowded, and, worst of all, required _dancing._ Something I did not do.

"Come on, Katniss, please? I promise you, you don't have to dance. Just come with us and have a few drinks-"

"I don't drink."

"Fine, then have a soda, it doesn't matter!"

"I have nothing to wear," I argued. The girls at work were always talking about going to the city's many ballrooms, and how they saved their paychecks to pay for the dresses, shoes, and hairstyles required to fit in. They didn't have to turn over their entire paycheck to the landlord or grocer. I had no dancing shoes, no fancy dress, and no knowledge of fixing my hair in anything but my simple braid. The Aragon was no place for me.

"You can wear that blue dress of your mom's. Just add some jewelry and you'll be fine. I promise, you'll like him. And if you don't, I'll buy you lunch all next week."

I looked at her from the corner of my eye. "You swear I don't have to dance?"

"Swear."

"And Finnick will bust his nose if he touches me?"

"Scout's honor," Annie promised, holding up three fingers.

I sighed dramatically. "Alright then. I'll go." I started towards the bus and pushed my way onto the steps.

"Eight o'clock, and don't be late. Oh, and Katniss? Curl your hair!" Annie shouted right before the doors closed. I gaped at her as the bus drove off and she waved, smiling at me. Curl my hair?

I'm in trouble.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When I got home, it was already past 6, and my sister Prim was filling steaming bowls with soup as I entered the kitchen. "Hey Little Duck, how was school today?" I greeted her with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. I assumed my mother was still at work, as a nurse's aid at the County Hospital. We usually ate without her, and Prim, unfortunately, was left to play housewife to the two working women of the house.

"Fine," Prim answered, ignored my eyes but smiling to herself as she set the bowls down on the kitchen table.

I was curious. "Just fine?" I pushed.

Prim smiled wider. "Well….there's going to a school dance next month. And I get to help plan it and it's going to be fantastic and beautiful and there'll be music-"

"Prim…" I cut her off. "You know we can't afford a dress for a dance. There's no wiggle room in our budget. "

"Oh, I know. That's why Madge is lending me one of hers."

I set my spoon down and took a deep breath. "Prim, you are not borrowing clothes from anyone, especially Madge."

"But why not? I thought Madge was your friend."

She's right; Madge was my friend, when we were both in school together. The daughter of our local alderman (who also happened to be a lawyer), Madge had more money than anyone else in our school. For her to be friends with someone like me from the Seam (the notorious name our impoverished street) was unthinkable. But Madge was quiet and sweet, and never gave off that air of snobbery that most of the merchant girls did. She would sit with me at lunch, silently handing over a slice of cheese or an apple when my lunch looked particularly lean, never saying a word or giving a judgmental look.

Madge was the only person I could call my friend, but I hadn't seen her since I had to drop out of school almost four years ago, at the beginning of our freshmen year. She worked at the school now, as the school librarian, probably going out on endless dates with lawyers and politicians that her father set her up with. I never tried to see Madge outside of school, for fear of the critical glances of her neighbors and mine. We were worlds apart, and that's just the way things were.

Now it seemed that Madge was looking out for my little sister at the school, and I hated it. I hated that I couldn't provide Prim with the extras she so craved, that my income was hanging on by a thread, and that I lived in a man's world that seemed to think that I was only good for one thing: procreation.

"Prim, we don't take charity. You know that. We didn't when Dad died, and we won't now."

Prim's face dropped. "But how can I work on the dance if I can't go? Rory said that he hoped I would be going…"

I couldn't stand watching her sad. And I knew that Rory Hawthorne next door had had his eye on her since they had played in their diapers together. I sighed and picked up my spoon again. "Alright, Little Duck, you can go. I'll think of something, okay?"

Prim beamed and ran around the table to throw her arms around my neck. "Oh thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"Okay," I laughed, "but no borrowing anything from anyone. We'll figure it out somehow."

"Okay, I promise. Hey, speaking of dances, don't you have plans tonight?"

I stared at Prim dumbfounded. "How did you know?"

She giggled. "Annie called before you got home. She said that I should help you with your hair. Oh, and to tell you to wear heels."

Heels too? This just got out of control.

"Eat your soup, Prim. We'll talk about my hair later."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

It turned out that I had no say in my hair at all. Immediately after dinner, I found myself perched in our bathroom, my head surrounded by pin curls, my grandmother's pearl earrings dangled from my ears, and my lips stained with my mother's lone red lipstick. "There," she said satisfied. "We don't have any pancake, but you're pretty without makeup anyways." I blushed and Prim stared at my face like she was studying me. She rubbed the lipstick on the back of her hand and rubbed it into my cheeks. "You're cutest when you blush. There, now you have some rouge on, too."

She moved behind me and started attacking the pins, allowing the ringlets to fall down my back. "You should really sleep on these at night, you know. It'll last longer that way."

I snorted under my breath. "Are you kidding me? It's the most uncomfortable things in the world. I'd rather sleep on a bed of needles."

Prim rolled her eyes at me as she started to fluff the curls. She sighed. "If only I had your thick, dark waves, I could do it myself. But," she pulled a blond strand from her face, "I'm stuck with blond and drab."

I grabbed her hand tight. "Don't ever think that you're drab, Little Duck. You are absolutely gorgeous." She smiled slightly at me. "Fourteen is a tough age. Right now, you're all long limbs and awkward. But I can already see the beautiful woman you will be someday."

Prim smiled even bigger. "Dad certainly liked blondes. Maybe I'll find a guy like him someday."

I dropped her hand, and hoped she wouldn't keep talking about our father. It was just too painful. "Maybe."

I sat in the chair while Prim preened over my hair for another twenty minutes. I heard the doorbell ring, and Prim went to answer it. It was Annie, and a quick glance at the clock told me that it was already 7:45. I quickly slipped into my room and looked down at the double bed I shared with my sister, where she had lovingly placed my outfit for the evening on top of our threadbare bedspread.

As Annie had reminded me, the only decent dancing dress I owned used to belong to my mother. It was dark navy blue, with ivory buttons down the front and a Peter Pan collar. From afar, it looked like miniature polka dots, but the dots were actually tiny white flowers. The skirt flared slightly, and stopped right below my knees. The style had once been too old fashioned to wear, but Mrs. Hawthorne next door had taken the waist in and added pintucks to the skirt to make it flare a bit more, turning the style more modern. It was supposed to be my Sunday church dress, but more often than not I wore a simple housedress to church and kept my coat on. The dress reminded me too much of better days, of when my father was alive and would sweep my mother into his arms and press a deep kiss to her lips while Prim and I squealed and called them movie stars.

Someone knocked quietly at the bedroom door. Annie poked an arm through without stepping in. "Here, I know you don't own these, but you can borrow mine."

I grabbed the bundle out of her hand. "Annie-"

"Get dressed! We're late!"

After my lecture to Prim about not borrowing anything for her dance, here I was borrowing Annie's undergarments. She had handed me a white silk bra and a garter belt with nylons. I really didn't need the bra, but maybe Annie was hoping to encourage curves that weren't there. I fingered the silky stockings in my hands. I hadn't seen a pair of real nylons since before the war, and even then, they were unaffordable to us Everdeens. I sighed. Not that I particularly loved wearing them; I was frankly glad when they disappeared off the market so that nylon could be used instead to make parachutes. For at least the past few years, my way of dressing in hand-me-downs and no frills had been in style. I was sure that with the war over, such ladylike luxuries would be in vogue once again. I quietly gave thanks that she didn't hand me a girdle as I quickly threw on the belt and bra, and sat on the bed to fumble with the stockings.

"Where on earth did you get these, Annie?" Even Annie didn't have much money to spare on nylons. She mostly painted hers on still, to save money for her "hope chest."

"Finnick. He likes to keep his lady looking good. His words, not mine. You know, you really should start wearing them out, or at least get some darker pancake and-"

"Just because rationing ended doesn't mean we can _afford_ everything, Annie. You know that." Annie was one of the few people I let know about our poverty. Not that I particularly cared what other people thought, but such knowledge made people feel either sorry for us or especially charitable, neither of which I welcomed.

I slipped the cool dress over my head and buttoned up the front. I knew Annie would expect heels as well, so I slid on a pair of my mothers, black with a decent heel and a strap across the ankles. I pinned my only hat to the top of my head, took a deep breath and swung open the door, where Prim and Annie sat waiting.

"Oh, Katniss."

"What?"

Prim sniffed a little. "You look like Rita Hayworth."

"Oh please, I hardly-"

"No, you do," Annie chimed in. "You look unbelievable. Your hair…you need to sleep in pin curls every night, Katniss."

"That's what I said!" chimed in Prim.

"Well, I hope my _date_ doesn't expect me to dance like Ms. Hayworth," I chuckled. "I'm sure he's no Fred Astaire, anyways."

Prim handed me my coat and a small clutch purse. "I put the lipstick inside. And fifty cents. Just in case."

When did my little sister start taking care of me? "Thanks. Stay next door at the Hawthornes until Mom comes home, promise?"

"I promise. I hope he's handsome," she added dreamily.

I snorted. "I doubt it. I'll be home early, with any luck."

Annie shook her head at me. "Come on, you old killjoy. Let's go paint the town red."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The crowd in front of the Aragon was enormous, full of young women in fur wraps and shiny new hats, men in fedoras and buttoned suits. An entire evening with the merchant class. I immediately felt out of place in my faded dress and worn out brown coat. I crossed my arms so no one would notice the worn out elbows as I stood with Annie on the corner of the street. The cold November air was making my cheeks cold and probably even more pink with the added rouge. Annie kept bouncing up and down on her toes and craning her neck around the crowds, trying to use her tiny frame to find her boyfriend.

Just as I was about to elbow a particularly loud and giddy redhead for bumping into me, Annie let out a squeal, and went running into the street. There was Finnick, ignoring the traffic lights and walking aimlessly amongst the taxi cabs. Another man followed close behind, less sure of Finnick's method of crossing the street.

Annie kept running and leapt into Finnick's arms. He immediately picked her up and twirled their bodies, and kept her up in the air as he crushed her lips to his. I rolled my eyes at the scene they were creating, cabs honking at them and drivers waving their arms out the windows. Finnick let her down gently, and then banged his fist on the nearest hood. "Hey, come on! Can't you see we're in love?" He smiled down at Annie and I actually heard a couple of girls sigh behind me. My eyes rolled even further back into my head.

Finnick and Annie particularly skipped towards me, arm in arm and all smiles. They were quite the handsome couple: Annie, with her reddish-brown curls and freckles, her soft green eyes, and her sweet, trusting nature; Finnick, with almost the same color hair, his charming good looks and outgoing personality. They looked like they were made to fit together, and they couldn't get enough of each other. Annie had waited for Finnick all throughout the war, wrote him countless letters, and shed too many tears worrying over him. When he came back, he literally swept Annie back off her feet, and the two were inseparable ever since. It was obvious that Finnick and Annie would be married soon, but, as a drunken Finnick once whispered to me, he was waiting to afford a decent ring and a home. He told me that he had filled out the paper work for a G.I. down payment, and was still waiting to hear back. I had smiled at his hopeful grin and assured him that Annie would gladly live on the streets as long as it was with him. Finnick simply winked and made me promise to keep quiet about his "plans."

"Hey, Katniss!" Finnick leaned in for a quick peck on my cheek. "Glad you could come."

"I didn't have much say in it. Annie was quite persuasive," I smirked.

Finnick smiled once again down at Annie. "Don't you just love that about her? Anyways, allow me to introduce the man of the hour, my good friend _and _fellow war hero, Peeta Mellark." He motioned his hand, and the man who had been following behind stepped forward.

My eyes moved up to his tall, stocky frame, and I was greeted by the pair of bluest eyes I had ever seen. They were soft and shining, the color of the ocean on a calm day. He had light blond hair, cut short to his head, obviously growing out from his military cut. He was wearing a dark brown suit and a wide striped tie, and I immediately noticed how muscular his chest was, far too wide for the suit he was wearing. Probably because his suits from before the war were too small for him, I thought. He looked so young, no more than 21 or 22, meaning that he left home at 18. Left home a boy, and came back a man, a soldier. And a damn fine looking one at that.

But what I noticed most was that he was staring at me, literally staring at me like I was a ghost. I immediately discredited Annie's reassurance that he was "fine" after coming home, and assumed his staring meant that he was not ready for a night out on the town. Or maybe I was a complete disappointment. He was expecting a glamorous dancing partner, not a dull girl from the Seam. I pulled at the corners of my coat and tried to cover up more of my dress, yet I couldn't stop staring back at him. Finally, I decided to be the first to say something.

"Katniss," I offered my hand to him. He reached out and surrounded my hand with his large, warm one. I instantly felt a bolt of electricity go through my arm and down my lower body. I swear, for a moment I smelled cinnamon.

He kept shaking my hand, and in a soft voice, replied, "Peeta." He cleared his throat. "I'm Peeta Mellark."

"Peter?"

"No, Peeta. It's Czech." He held onto my hand and bobbed it up and down, his eyes never leaving mine.

We must have been staring at each other for a while, because I heard both Annie start to giggle, and Finnick clapped Peeta on the back. "Like what you see, huh," he sneered at both of us. I shook my head a bit and lifted my head up higher. Peeta immediately dropped my hand and cleared his throat again. Whatever this guy's problem, I was not going to let some snobby merchant kid ruin my ego, or my night.

"Come on, Annie." I pulled her away from Finnick and started pushing my way through the crowds. I glanced back and saw Finnick start laughing hard as he clapped Peeta once more on the back. Peeta was still standing there, staring at us with a dumb expression on his face, as Finnick pushed him forward.

The four of us continued to push through the crowds and made it to the doors. As I reached for the handle, I felt a rush of wind behind me, and suddenly Peeta grabbed the handle before I could, swinging the door open for me. I scowled at him. Did he really think that such chivalry would make me weak in the knees? That I would swoon over a door being opened? But his face looked so earnest, so hopeful, that I quietly thanked him as I walked past him.

As I walked in, I let out a small gasp. I had never actually set foot inside the Aragon before. The lobby itself was as ornate as a millionaire's mansion. The carpeting was plush and jewel-colored, and all around were elaborate gold fixtures, from the chandeliers to the large golden statues flanking the staircase. The ceiling itself was a labyrinth of gold hexagons, and the staircase, with its gold railings and marble steps, was centered with a luxurious red carpet. You literally walked the red carpet here.

I had never seen anything quite like it, and my companions must have noticed my gasps and wandering eyes, for Peeta leaned over and quietly asked me if I had ever been here before.

"No," I answered, still looking up at the golden ceiling. "I've never seen anything quite so lovely before in all my life."

"Me neither." But I when I turned to him, he wasn't staring at the ceiling or the paintings or the statues. He was staring straight at me.

I felt my cheeks warm and knew I was blushing at his comment. We stared at each other for a split second, and then he dropped his gaze. Those blue eyes were so captivating, it unsettled me. I quickly started up the stairs, climbing a little more quickly to catch up to Annie and Finnick.

A gentleman dressed in a full tuxedo opened another door for us at the top of the stairs, and we entered the ballroom itself. It was possibly even lovelier than the lobby. The walls were garishly painted with columns and terra cotta roofed balconies, making it appear that we were in a courtyard from long ago. The ceiling was literally twinkling with a fake stars, and clouds from projector beams danced across the stars, mimicking the night sky. The entire room was flanked by table after table of guests, cigarettes and crossed legs bouncing in the air above dimly lit lantern centerpieces. In the middle of the room, couples were dancing shoulder to shoulder, so crowded that it made real dancing impossible and the couples merely shifted alongside one another. On the stage, a huge band played between two giant ruby curtains, blasting out the latest hits. Prim always stayed up late on the weekends to listen to the broadcast, dreamily leaning against her wrist and listening for the announcement: "And now, from our studios in the Aragon Ballroom, where the dancing is already in progress…" And here I was. I immediately felt guilty over being here instead of Prim; she would have enjoyed it so much more. I vowed to remember each detail so I could share it with her later tonight.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when Finnick whistled loudly for us to sit at an empty table that he found. Still playing the part of the gentleman, Peeta spun around me and pulled my chair out, while also helping me out of my coat. Finnick did the same for Annie, and all four of us huddled together around the tiny table, our knees practically knocking together. I spread my dress over my knees and noticed Peeta's legs twitching nervously. But his face stayed calm as he surveyed the dancing.

Finnick raised a finger and got the attention of the nearest waiter. "Two Manhattans, and a couple of Martinis for the ladies."

"None for me," I quickly shouted back at the waiter. "A Coca-Cola, please."

Finnick shot me a look. "Seriously? You're at the Aragon, and all you want is a Coke? I can give you that in my kitchen!"

I scrowled at Finnick. "I don't drink."

"Neither do I," Peeta jumped in. "Make that two Cokes." He slightly smiled and looked at me from the corner of his eye. I slumped back in my chair and didn't say a word. Again with the chivalry.

Finnick sighed loudly. "Well, aren't you two just the world's most exciting couple." He slid his arm around the back of Annie's chair. "So, Peeta here just got back and is standing to inherit the family business."

"And what business is that?" I asked, looking at Finnick and not Peeta.

Finnick responded, "Oh, you know, cupcakes and sugar cookies and whatnot."

Peeta chuckled. "Yeah, well, we'll see. My father owns a bakery on the West Side, and while I definitely have a job there, I'm not sure about owning a bakery."

"Wait, where on the West Side?" I asked, suddenly intrigued

"On the corner of South Lawndale and Crawford," he replied.

"I know that place!" I exclaimed. "Wait, you mean Mellark's Bakery?" Of course. I knew I had recognized that name when we were first introduced. The bakery supplied our neighborhood with bread and birthday cakes, along with numerous Eastern European delicacies that the overwhelming immigrant population craved. Our little niche within the neighborhood, nicknamed the Seam, didn't frequent the bakery too much – it was seen as a "merchant" luxury to buy store-bought bread. I had never actually set foot in the bakery, but I walked by that bakery almost every day on the way to the bus stop, and had practically grown up right by Peeta's bakery.

"Really," replied Peeta calmly, as though he didn't seem too surprised to hear that I lived close by to him.

"Yeah, I walk by there all the time. My sister Prim always makes us stop to stare at the cakes in the window. "

"I actually do those. The cakes, I mean. I decorate the cakes," Peeta blushed.

I wasn't sure what to say next. The cakes were certainly beautiful, but there was never a time or a place in my life for something for frivolous as decorative icing. "Well, small world," I replied.

"Yes, yes it is." He smiled shyly. "You should come by some time. I can show you how to frost a cake."

I frowned, wondering if this was his idea of a perverse suggestion. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" I asked him, a little too harshly.

Peeta fumbled. "I, uh, I don't know. I just thought, you know, if you ever wanted to stop in, and I could show you…never, never mind." He stared at his shoes and I quickly looked to the side. He had been so kind to me thus far, and here I was being rude. Maybe he really did just want to show me what he did at the bakery. But I didn't want to lead him on. Agreeing to "stop by" the bakery could lead to another date, and then another, and the next thing I know I'm knee deep in babies and laundry.

Peeta and I sat there, staring at our feet, me scrowling and him nervously bouncing his left leg. I felt Annie place a hand over mine. "I think we need to go powder our noses. Excuse us." She pulled me up out of the chair and started leading me to the ladies room. I heard Finnick behind me tell Peeta, "Women, they always go in pairs, huh?"

Once inside the bathroom, crawling with girls who also went in pairs, Annie pulled me against the wall and shot me a look.

"What?"

Annie took a deep breath. "Katniss, you know I love you, right? But are you serious?"

Again, I asked, "what?"

"Peeta Mellark is a sweet, kind, generous, and ridiculously handsome young man who has just returned from the war and you are being rude to him."

This time, I took a deep breath. She was right. There was no reason to be rude to Peeta. He was handsome all right, and had been kind thus far. At this point in our date, Cato had already groped my behind and asked me to join him in the alley.

"It's alright, Katniss. I know this is hard for you. Especially because of Gale. But why don't you just give him a chance? Try being friends with him."

Another big breath. She had mentioned Gale Hawthorne. The boy next door, whom I had grown up with, climbed trees with, and who treated me like his little brother. He was a few years older than me, and I thought the sun rose and set with him. He always looked out for my family and me, especially after my father died. Gale's own father had left his mother and five children so he could run around the country searching for women and booze, so he knew how hard life without a father around was. The Hawthornes and the Everdeens had pooled our resources and relied on one another, and in some way, Gale became the head of both families. I worshipped him, yet I doubt that he ever saw me as anything other than a scrappy kid sister.

I was 15 and he was 19 when the war started. He enlisted literally the day after Pearl Harbor, and was sent to the Pacific. I remember the day he left, looking ridiculous tall, dark, and handsome in his uniform. He kissed me on the cheek and told me to take care of things while he was gone, that I was now the man of the house. I rubbed my cheek and watched his walk down the street, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, never looking back.

I received letters from him from time to time, and heard more about his adventures from his letters to his mother. But eventually the letters stopped. And one day, a Marine in dress blues and our pastor appeared at the Hawthorne's front door. Gale was missing in action, and considered dead. Mrs. Hawthorne silently shed a few tears, and switched the star on her window from blue to gold. She proudly put a picture of Gale in his uniform on the mantle, and lit a candle there every night. Few words were spoken, and no memorial was held. I think Gale's mother was holding out hope that he was still out there somewhere, captured or injured, just waiting to come home. But I knew Gale. I knew he was a fighter, and severely patriotic, and I knew that he would have given up his life for his fellow Marines. He was gone, and with him the only man that I could have ever pictured myself with. Not necessarily because I had been in love with him; but I knew that I loved him, and we made sense together. We were from the same past, the same Seam address. I would never have had to explain the ways things were to Gale.

My thoughts wanted to linger on Gale, but I was brought back to reality and my new dilemma: Peeta. He didn't know that I still missed Gale. And he didn't know how we Seam kids felt about Merchant kids. The divide was so great, and the last thing I wanted to be called was a Seam Slut, looking for a way out of poverty through the bedroom. Yet there was something about him that made me feel calm and comfortable. Gale had always made me feel anxious and alive, but Peeta was different somehow. Softer, and more peaceful.

Annie had said friends. Friends I could do. I didn't have too many friends outside of Annie and Finnick, but I supposed that I could use another one. Heck, maybe he could give me a discount for a cookie or two on Prim's birthday.

"OK, I'll be nice. I promise. I'll make friends with him – but nothing more, do you understand, Ms. Cresta? No dreams of a double wedding or anything."

Annie smiled. "OK. No double weddings. But don't be surprised if you start liking him. Sometimes, these fellas sneak up on you. Finnick certainly did."

She paused in front of the mirror to reapply her lipstick. I snuck a quick peek at the mirror myself. I honestly didn't recognize the girl there. My hair shaped in its perfect waves set by Prim, the red lipstick, the pink cheeks. I couldn't help but wonder what Gale would have thought if he was here tonight. No longer the skinny teen with cuts on her knees, I looked like a woman. And then I surprised myself by wondering, as Finnick said, if Peeta liked what he saw.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

As I approached the table, I saw Finnick and Peeta leaning close to one another, talking quietly. I was able to make out Finnick's words as I got closer.

"She's a tough one, all right. But don't give up. You've waited this long for her, just be patient. And don't scare her off. She has a history of pain in her life. "

Waited this long for her? I just met him 15 minutes ago. What was Finnick talking about? And how dare he talk about my past to a stranger like that? I deliberately went the long way around the table to announce my presence to them, and both men immediately straightened up and smiled in my direction as I sat down.

Annie didn't get a chance to sit down before Finnick wrapped his arms around her waist. "Come on doll, we're going dancing." Annie shot me a sympathetic smile and a shrug of her shoulders as Finnick whirled her into the horde of dancers. He was such a good dancer, and made even sweet, shy Annie look like Ginger Rogers. They twirled around the other slower dancers, and then they disappeared into the crowd.

Peeta was still shaking his leg, and I didn't know where to look, so I kept staring at my hands folded on the table. He seemed to be working up the nerve to say something. I nervously sipped at my drink.

"So, um, ahem," he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"It's ok," I said, taking another sip. "I may have overacted a bit."

Peeta smiled. "Would you like to start over?"

I smiled back. "OK."

"Hi, I'm Peeta Mellark," he said as he extended a hand to me.

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Pleased to meet you, Katniss." He held my gaze, and my stomach burst into butterflies. "So, what do you like to do, Katniss? I'd very much like to get to know more about you."

And just like that, we began a conversation that lasted hours. Periodically, Annie and Finnick would show up breathless, Finnick would tell a rowdy joke, then see someone he knew from the Navy across the room, and whisk Annie away to go find them. Peeta and I stayed at the table, talking about our families, the bakery, our siblings, working for Capital Electric. We avoided anything too personal or tragic, like the war or money. I wanted to ask him about being a war hero, but I was too shy and I didn't want to remind him of bad times. Although he did tell me that the British soldiers called them all Yanks at first, and not in a very endearing way, but they eventually won them over after several rounds of beer. I told him about Prim finding an alley cat and insisting that we keep him, mangy hair and everything, and how the cat hated me. When he went to light my cigarette, he told me that he didn't smoke, and that during the war he would trade all his rationed cigarettes to the other soldiers for their rationed Hersey bars.

"I have a bit of a sweet tooth," he admitted shyly.

"Must be nice to work in a bakery, then," I teased him.

"It does come in handy, yes," he laughed. I had to laugh with him. His smile was wide and gleaming, and made me smile wider too.

"I don't really have much of a sweet tooth myself. We don't really buy sweets." Uh oh, keep it light, Katniss. "But, I do like cheese buns. And cheese kolacki. Oh, and coffee cake. With that creamy cheese inside."

"I notice I cheese trend here," he smirked. "Well, I happen to make a fantastic cheese bun."

"Oh, you do, do you?" I leaned forward. "Well, I will be the judge of that." What was I doing? Was I flirting?

Peeta leaned forward slightly, putting his face closer to mine. "Is that a challenge? Because I guarantee that my cheese buns are better than any others you have had."

"We'll just have to see now, won't we?" Peeta smiled at me and I of course gave one back. We stayed like that for a moment, leaning forward and staring into each other's eyes, both with a slight smile on our faces. Holy cow, those eyes again. It all felt so good – the flirting, the smiles, the knees touching each other – and I swear I caught Peeta slip his eyes down to look at my mouth. My heart started to pound heavily in my chest. Right then, Finnick and Annie slid into the table, laughing and out of breath. Finnick threw back another drink and off they went again. The moment had passed, and I leaned back into my chair, frankly a bit relieved.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Ma'am, ladies cannot smoke inside the ballroom," the waiter told me.

I looked around the smoke-filled room. Men at almost every table were smoking cigarette after cigarette, yet I was being told to put mine out? "And why is that?"

"I'm sorry Ma'am, owners' rules." He stood next to me, waiting for me to stub out my cigarette.

"Fine, it's gone, happy?" The waiter nodded and moved away from the table. I turned to Peeta and shrugged my shoulders. "Wouldn't want to upset the establishment now, would we?"

Peeta didn't seem to enjoy my joke. In fact, his face was white and he was fisting his hands. "They shouldn't have rules like that. Why shouldn't you be able to smoke? It's not like women can't vote anymore. You have rights. I fought so you can have rights!"

"Peeta, it's ok-"

"No, it's not ok. I'm going to say something." He started to stand up, and I quickly stood up with him.

"Peeta, no, stop. It's ok, really. I was almost done anyways."

"But it's not fair."

"Easy, soldier." I gently placed my hands on his shoulders to calm his nerves. He glanced at my hands and then at my face, and he started to compose himself. "You don't be to fight a battle here. I'm a big girl, I can wait for another cigarette."

Peeta smiled at me with his head slightly turned, as though he was afraid to completely meet my eyes. "Dance with me? Just once before we have to leave?"

"Wait, what time is it?" I started to panic about Prim. She must already be in bed now, having waited too late at the Hawthornes. I grabbed Peeta's wrist and turned it towards me so I could see the time. It was a quarter to eleven, and we had been here for almost three hours. Had I really been talking to Peeta for three hours? While I contemplated the time it would take me to get home from the North side via train and walk home from the station, I realized that I was still holding Peeta's wrist in my hands. "Sorry," I muttered and I let it drop.

"No problem. My wristwatch is your wristwatch." I raised my eyebrows at him. "It is getting late, though. Will you dance one dance with me, before we go?" He asked again.

The current song was a relatively upbeat jazz number, and the couples were bouncing together across the dance floor. It seemed like a safe song, not too much skill required, nor was it a slow love song. Geez, I thought, how much more am I going to give in to this guy? "OK, one dance." Peeta beamed and took my hand. It was just as warm as our first handshake, strong and steady. As we weaved through the mob of tables, I grabbed the inside of his wrist slightly for balance. Peeta looked down at our hands and flashed me a look of satisfaction.

We stopped at the edge of the dance floor, and Peeta lightly slipped his arm around my waist and put his left hand on my right. "Peeta, I, I should have warn you, I really don't know how to dance."

"Don't worry, I haven't properly danced with a girl in over three years. And the last time was my baby cousin Paige at my uncle's wedding. I'm sure you'll do a better job than she did." He smiled that warm smile once again, and started leading me backwards into the mix, keeping his distance but at the same time standing close enough that I could feel his warmth spread onto mine.

"Hey you two, thought you'd never get out here!" Finnick shouted over Annie's shoulder as they flew by us, Annie's skirt spinning around her waist. Annie just giggled and wiggled a couple of fingertips in my direction, and just like that they disappeared yet again.

"Showoffs," Peeta teased into my ear. I had to giggle myself at how ridiculous those two were. But they were in love and they didn't care.

I was starting to get comfortable with the steps Peeta was taking, long strides with a quicker step thrown in there to turn us, when suddenly the song changed. I heard the trumpets play loudly, and I immediately recognized the song as Vera Lynn's _We'll Meet Again_. The song had played almost nonstop on the radio and in every soda stand in town for the past years. A beautiful woman in a red silk dress walked to the front of the stage and started belting out the lyrics: _"Let's say goodbye with a smile dear, just for a while dear, we must part…" _I stopped in my tracks, unsure of where to go, since we had made our way into the middle of the throng of dancers.

"Well, I guess that makes it two songs, then, huh?" I looked up at Peeta, and scowled. He leaned into my eye and told me, "Just go with it, follow my lead." I had no choice but to obey.

He took my hand in his again, and started swaying softly to the music. I felt his other hand press firmly to my lower back and bring me in closer to him. I started to feel that warm feeling again, and I let my chin light rest on top of his shoulder. I closed my eyes and smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon rise off his clothes. We moved slowly around the floor, and my hands started to squeeze his. He squeezed back, and pulled me in even closer. It felt good, so incredibly good, that I knew Peeta would have to be the one who ended this dance.

"_We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. But I'll know we'll meet again, some sunny day…"_

I felt my head start to lean in towards his shoulder, and his breath on my neck made my skin break out into goosebumps. Who was this man, and what was he doing to me?

Peeta was the first to break the silence. "I used to hear this song all the time over in England. It reminded me so much of…" he paused, "…the old neighborhood. Sometimes it kept me going through the hard times."

I didn't say anything. Just listened.

"I know you might not believe me, but sometimes, when we weren't being shot at or eating breakfast next to a bunch of dead men, I would imagine coming home and taking a girl just like you dancing. Just holding her in my arms, and having her listen to my ramblings." He chuckled. "Never thought it would actually happen, though. Never thought that I would make it out of there alive." His voice caught at the end.

I leaned back to look him in the eye. I was never good with words, but I knew that something needed to be said. "I'm glad you did."

Peeta was silent for a moment, holding my gaze with damp blue eyes and a serious look about them. "You have no idea, Katniss."

His tone startled me, and I looked back over his shoulder and leaned back to my original position. We continued swaying and turning just like that until we reached the edge of the dance floor once again, and the lady in the red dress stopped singing her song.

I pulled back away from Peeta and gave him a smile. "Thanks for the dance."

"Two dances, actually. Anytime."

Annie and Finnick literally bumped into us, falling over laughing. "Annie, you're drunk," I scolded her.

"No I'm not! I'm just a little, uh, not drunk!" She bent over the table giggling, and Finnick stood behind her, nodding "Yes she is!" to Peeta and me.

"How much did she have?" I pestered Finnick.

"Not much, just a couple of drinks. Oh, and another one over there. And maybe another one over there." He sputtered out laughing at the end, and Annie leaned into his chest, laughing even harder.

"Annie, I think it's time to get you home."

"No, Katniss, not yet! No, we have to have our picture taken. There's a photographer right over there," she pointed in one direction, "no, wait, he was over there," she pointed in a different direction. "We have to take a picture! Finnick, please, make them take a picture with us!"

I sighed and looked up at Peeta. He shrugged his shoulders at me. "Alright, we'll take a picture. But then we're going home, ok?"

We gathered up all our coats and hats, and made our way to just outside the ballroom. A photographer had indeed set up a backdrop and was taking photos of fresh-faced couples sweaty from their dancing.

The photographer motioned for us to step up, and set down two stools for Annie and I to sit on. I looked over at Annie, and tried to mimic her crossed ankles and squared shoulders. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned my head to see Peeta behind me. He gave me a reassuring smile and I turned around just as the photographer shouted "Smile!" and a huge flash blinded us all.

Our group started walking off the backdrop and picking up their coats. "That's it?" I asked, still sitting. I had such few pictures of myself and had never had a professional take my portrait. It was considered such a luxury, especially when you spent the majority of your childhood not knowing when your next meal was.

"Yup," the photographer. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and scribbled something on a notecard before handing it to me. "Take this down to my studio in the Loop in a few days, and you can pick up your print."

Peeta picked up the notecard before I could. "I can go. I go downtown all the time."

"You do? You just got back to the city," I teased as we walked downstairs into the lobby.

"I know my way around town, Ms. Everdeen. I think I'll manage."

"Well, I'd like to see the picture. Not for me, for my sister. For my sister, not me." Crap, I was rambling. "She's always wanted to go dancing. I know she'd want to see this."

He smiled. "You must love her a lot."

I nodded silently. You have no idea, I thought to myself. The sacrifices I have made for that little girl. The sacrifices I would always make for her.

"I'll have to bring the picture over, then. So she can see how beautiful her big sister looked tonight."

I blushed about 10 deep shades of red at his comment. I suddenly realized that taking care of Prim, sending her to college, making sure she married a decent fellow, all of that required staying far away from Peeta and his charming ways. What was I doing? The flirting, the dancing, the laughing – these were things shallow girls did in order to snatch a husband. And then what? I never wanted children, and I certainly did not want to become a housewife. No husband would want to pay to better my little sister's life. My life had so far been one giant lesson in how sad the world was. Losing my father, watching my family almost starve to death during the Depression, and then the horrors of the War? Why would I bring a child into that? And what about Gale? Would he have approved of Peeta and his merchant background? No, whatever Peeta Mellark's intentions were, I needed to stay far away. I would only disappoint him.

"Peeta, I don't want to ever get married."

He looked at me quizzically, his brows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, I'm sorry, I'm not so good at words. I meant, I think we should be friends. Just friends. I don't, I don't date. Ever." I nodded my head at the end for emphasis, but despite my confident words, my eyes couldn't seem to meet his and I instead stared at my shoes. If I looked at this eyes, I'd never be able to say no. And I had to say no. Otherwise he'll get the wrong idea, and I'll break his heart, and then I'll have to walk around the block just to get to the bus stop so I can avoid the bakery.

But to my surprise, Peeta chuckled. "Ok, we can be friends. I don't really know a lot folks in the neighborhood anymore, so I could always use a friend." He offered me his arm. "So, may I walk you home? Strictly as friends, mind you. No funny business, Ms. Everdeen."

I smiled up at him. It was going to be fine. I didn't break his heart, and I won't have to avoid the bakery for the rest of my life. I was stupid to even think that he was interested in me like that. I grabbed onto his elbow and he gave me a wink as we walked out the doors of the Aragon and started towards the train station, Annie and Finnick trailing behind in a giggling stupor.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

True to his word, there was no funny business on the train, save for Annie and Finnick, who immediately began necking as soon as they sat down. I stared out the window, feeling awkward about my words at the end of the night. I hoped that it didn't ruin our potential friendship. Of course Peeta wasn't romantically interested in me. I was skinny and clumsy, and even my best outfit screamed poverty. Peeta said that he always wanted to take a girl like me dancing, but he meant _any_ girl, and I was just practice until he met a merchant class girl with curves and grace. I was just a favor for his old buddy Finnick.

And how would we be friends anyway? Friendly acquaintances at best. The whole neighborhood would be gossiping about the friendship between the baker's son and the weird tomboy from the Seam, and automatically assume that I was trying to get free bread or something. Or worse, think that I was trying to dig my paws into the family business. No, Peeta could never be my friend. Not a real friend, anyway. My only real friend was Gale, and he was gone.

"Hey, you ok?" Peeta asked me. I realized that I had been staring out the window for some time now.

"Yeah, fine, just a little tired." I tried to cover up, but Peeta looked like he didn't believe me. He nodded and went back to staring out the opposite window with a sad look on his face. I realized that I had no idea how to be a good friend.

At Annie's stop, Finnick gently nudged her awake. I hugged her goodbye, and reminded her to wait until Finnick had at least given her a ring before she made any "mistakes."

"Psst, Katniss, that ship has already sailed." I raised my eyebrows at her, and leaned in for another hug. "Isn't Peeta the best? Be kind to him, he loves you so much."

Geez, she must be completely drunk. "Just try not to upchuck all over your kitchen."

Finnick stepped forward and saluted me. "She's in good hands, Ma'am." And with that, they linked hands and stepped off the train.

We arrived at our stop in silence. Peeta the Gentleman helped down from the train and we walked down the silent street, the only noise was our heels clapping on the sidewalk. After a few block in continued silence, I turned back to Peeta. "I can take it from here. The bakery's just a few blocks behind us, so you can just go home. I'll be fine." I couldn't imagine Peeta wanting to walk to the Seam.

"Now what kind of _friend,_" he emphasized, "would I be if I let a girl walk home by herself late at night." He started walking and I scurried up behind him.

"No really, I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can," he said without looking at me.

"You know, I don't need a man to take care of me."

"So you told me."

"Is that what this is about? You needing to take care of me? "

"What do you mean, what is this about?" Peeta said defensively.

I was blowing it. "I mean, why are you being so nice to me? What's your angle?"

Peeta sighed. "Is it so hard to believe that I want to get you know you?"

"Maybe. I just don't understand why someone like you is interested in someone like me."

"Someone like me." Peeta said to the night sky. "Katniss, I just got back to the States two weeks ago, arrived home a few days ago. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do or who I'm supposed to be. My parents expect me to go back to my old room, my old job at the bakery, like nothing happened. But a lot _did _happen, and I'm supposed to just pretend? I don't even know how to act around people anymore. And maybe I met someone who seemed nice and I wanted to be nice to her. But who knows, maybe the war made me someone who can't be nice to a girl anymore." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

I touched his elbow. "Hey, I didn't mean to upset you like that. I meant it when I said I'm glad you came home. Even if I really don't know you yet."

Peeta turned his head and smiled. "You have no idea, do you? The effect you have on people."

I was confused. "Huh?"

"Exactly," he chuckled. "I know I'm obviously a little messed in the head, but I would very much like to be friends with you Katniss, and get to know you better. If you'll allow it."

I was starting to like that chuckle, and it turned my scowl into a smile. "I'll allow it."

We kept walking in silence as we entered the unofficial boundary of the Seam, where the houses were rundown, built tightly next to one another, and the street sweepers seemed to forget to clean the roads. We approached my house, a small hunched over two flat, its brown bricks weathered and worn. Prim had planted primrose bushes under the front windows earlier in the year, and the colder weather had turned them into scrawny twig branches that jutted out into the yard. The Hawthorne's dog howled out at us from its post in the backyard.

"This is me." I hoped that Peeta wouldn't judge too harshly.

"It's nice," Peeta said, and I tried to look for sarcasm in his voice or face, but it wasn't there. Maybe Annie was right and Peeta was the real deal.

"Well, thank you for a very nice evening," I said with a nod of my head and I extended my hand to him. Despite his kind words, I assumed that I wouldn't be seeing anymore of Peeta Mellark. Not once he settled in at home. I silently hoped that he would find out who he is and not lose the man I met tonight. Any girl would be lucky to have him.

He shook my hand and smiled widely. "Anytime, Katniss. Have a good night." He dropped my hand and started walking in the direction we came from, shoving his hands in his pocket. I opened the gate, and walked up the steps to the front porch, when I heard him call my name from the sidewalk.

"Hey Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"We'll meet again." And with that, he turned on his heels and started whistling that song as he walked away. I smiled into my chest and turned the key.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_First, I want to give a huge THANK YOU to everyone who commented, favorited, or followed this little story of mine. It means so much to me that it's gotten such a warm welcome, and I'm really excited to start joining the HG fandom, as opposed to lurking in it as I have been. There are so many amazing Everlark writers out there!_

_Slight disclaimer: This chapter includes some religion and church-going. Suzanne Collins never mentions religion in the series, and I always assumed (in my head-canon) that religion had been lost somewhere along the way to the world being a dystopian disaster. But, my story being a different time and place, I decided that it needed to be a part of the story. Because honestly, in 1940s Chicago, you went to church. Period. Hopefully this won't offend anyone._

_Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games, I'm just having fun with her characters._

"Nothing happened, Prim. He walked me to the door, shook my hand, and left. We're going to be friends, that's all."

"Friends? What does that mean?"

"It means that I probably won't see him again, except occasionally on the street, where I'll wave to him and he'll wave to me and we'll move on with our lives. Now eat your breakfast."

From the moment she woke up, Prim had been quizzing me nonstop about the previous night. She had decided, without having met him, that Peeta and I were destined to be together, that we were soul mates, star crossed lovers from opposite parts of town. It was this last one that made me roll my eyes.

"I think he sounds romantic. He'll bake you cookies on your anniversary that say I love you, and bring bread home every evening to your chunky baker children."

"Prim, it's not like that. You know me, I don't date random guys." I started collecting our breakfast plates and bringing them to the sink. My mother's empty bowl was sitting in the bottom; yet again, she had come home late and left early.

"No kidding," Prim said knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't date at all. And that you need to let yourself go sometimes." She came up behind me at the sink and rested her head between my shoulder blades. "I know things have been hard for you. For us. But you deserve to be happy. If you'll let yourself be."

Without looking up, I told her, "Prim, I _am_ happy."

"No, you're not. You haven't been happy since Dad died. None of us have. But he wouldn't want us to mourn forever. And if he were here now, I'm sure he would want you to find someone and fall in love. So would Gale."

I turned around and started scrubbing plates silently. I knew that hopeless romantic Prim would want me to date so she could plan my wedding and all, but I didn't think she would go there. It was a low blow. But I knew she was also right.

"Just think about it, ok, Katniss?"

I nodded and kept my eyes on the dishes as she walked away. I turned my head towards the doorway of the kitchen and sighed. Why did she have to bring my father into this?

It had been 8 years, nearly a decade, since I had last seen my father. 8 years since he was alive. 8 years since my life changed forever.

He used to work at Panem Steel, a job he got at 14 and stayed at until the day he died. Literally, I smirked to myself. It was considered a good, steady job, and provided a decent living for him and my mother in the early years. But when the market crashed in '29, his pension, his hours, his wages were slowly cut, and eventually, like all of the workers, he only worked if there was a need. With the economy so bad, manufacturing was hit the hardest, and he often came home before lunch, telling us that there was simply no work for him that day. But he would still get up the next day and kiss our heads goodbye, hopeful that the foreman would allow him to work and bring home pay that day. I was still young, and Prim was in diapers, but I noticed little things. Like my mother making us dresses from used potato sacks. Or my father walking and hitchhiking to the Southside every day to avoid paying for the streetcar. But we still had something to eat every day, even if it was mostly bruised potatoes and apples.

One day, Prim and I came home from school to find my mother and Mrs. Hawthorne huddled together in the kitchen, the two youngest Hawthorne's clinging to her skirt, Gale staring at the fireplace. I immediately knew that something was wrong. Word had spread that there was a fire at the steel mill, and no one knew a thing. We waited and waited, still no word. Finally, Gale grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me outside. "Come on, we're not waiting for them to show up. We're going down there ourselves." And with that, both families loaded themselves onto the streetcar and headed for the mill.

When we arrived, it was chaos. Firemen were frantically trying to put out a massive fire with their hoses, but seemed to be getting nowhere as the fire spread across the building. The police kept the crowd of frantic wives behind the imposing steel gates. Everyone was shouting and craning their necks for a better view. Slowly, we saw a group of men approach the gate, their metal helmets bobbed down, covered in soot and limping, some with burns on their hands and faces. Medics and nurses with stretchers started helping the more injured men, and women either ran to hug their husbands in relief or hold their hands on the stretchers. A priest made the sign of the cross over a few, giving them their last rites, just in case.

We stayed there for a long time as one hour passed, then another, and slowly the crowd outside of the gate began to disperse. More and more men came out, but none with the last name of Everdeen or Hawthorne. Finally, a police officer came by the women standing outside the gates. "I'm sorry," he said. "We've found all of the survivors." A few of the women burst into sobs. Mrs. Hawthorne shook her head with her eyes closed and swayed little Posy in her arms. My mother crumbled to the ground and never made a sound. Gale and I just stood there watching, and he silently interlaced his fingers with mine.

It turned out that a pot of hot molten iron had turned itself over, fell on top of a couple of men, and then spread fire throughout. My father and Gale's father were working above where the fire started, and couldn't get out. Even with the supposed safety measures that had been put in place, nothing could have protected them with such a wild and unpredictable fire that had started. It took the Chicago Fire Department until the early hours of the next morning to finally put the blaze out, and by then the building was nothing but a shell of blackened machinery and support beams.

12 men died that day, including my father and Mr. Hawthorne. Their bodies were too burnt for a wake, but we had a proper funeral for each, and attended all 12. The church gave us some money that had been collected for the families, most of it going to the funeral home. Most of the families in the Seam brought over what they could, glass trays of casseroles and twisted breads. Panem Steel never gave us a dime.

My mother never recovered from her crumpled position that day at the mill, and she simply stopped living. She stayed in bed all day, never washing, never moving, just staring at the blank wall all curled up. In my grief, I was left to take care of myself and Prim all alone. At first, it didn't seem too bad; we still had some food in the pantry, and we lived off the funeral food for weeks. We weren't any worse off than the rest of the country's unemployed families, and we were already used to making do with very little. But after a couple of months, the pantry was bare, the church money ran out, and the food platters stopped coming in. Other families were still struggling to put food on their own tables, let alone ours. But we had nothing coming in, no money for rent or for food. At 11 years old, I was faced with protecting my entire family from both starvation and eviction.

Not knowing where else to go, I first went to the church. God always provides, my father used to tell us. The pastor tsked and shook his head at me when I told him of our problems. Unfortunately, as he explained, the church was already spread too thin in helping out a number of families. What he could give us was to let us stay in school, and told us to join the sisters in the convent for breakfast. I nodded and thanked him, but couldn't help but notice that he was still able to keep his stout belly somehow. When we showed up at the convent the next day, there were rows and rows of Seam kids wearing tattered and patched school clothes, their skinny legs dangling from the benches. We were each served a small bowl of oatmeal and a cup of milk, and it quickly became the only decent meal of the day for us. On the weekends, when we had to make do with only mint tea for the day, we longed for Monday morning when a nun with a kind face would scoop out plain but hearty oatmeal. My mother never seemed to notice our hunger on the weekends; she simply stared at the wall or the floor, never even looking at Prim when she spooned tea into her mouth.

Food was somewhat taken care of, but each month I faced the challenge of paying our rent. I turned to selling our meager possessions. In anger, I sold almost all of my mother's jewelry, telling myself that if she wanted to keep it she would have to get her ass out of bed to stop me. I kept my parents' wedding rings though. Somehow, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else wearing them around town. Next went the wedding china, the little ceramic figures my mother had brought with her from her days as a merchant's daughter, even Prim's baby clothes. Then came all unnecessary furniture, which Gale helped me load into a borrowed trunk and sell down at the used furniture store on 60th St. He himself had done the same a month before.

The Hawthornes were always quick to offer us some leftover soup or a slice of bread whenever they could spare. But they had 5 mouths to feed, including a baby and growing teenage boys. Mrs. Hawthorne didn't seem nearly as affected as my mother did, although I'm sure she mourned in her own way. She started taking in extra laundry to help pay their rent, and Gale had already dropped out of school and was working two jobs.

It turned out that one of Gale's jobs was working as a mechanic in a shop in Cicero called The Hob. Darius, the owner, was supposedly connected to the Mob, although Gale always dismissed this rumor. It did seem like an awful lot of men in fancy suits brought their cars there and never seemed to pay a dime.

It was Gale that brought me to The Hob after I sold almost all our furniture. He thought that if he could teach me to make repairs, Darius would see how valuable I would be. "You smart, Catnip," he told me. "Plus, you could slide right under the cars. Trust me, you'll be a natural."

And I was. As soon as Gale started his lessons, I caught on quick. He often commented that I was better than he was, and I always smiled at the thought of being better at a man's job than a man. At first, Darius shrugged his shoulders at me in Gale's old oversized overalls, and didn't seem to notice me. I just showed up every day after school, following Gale around, learning what I could, and getting paid nothing. But one day, after I successfully fixed the carburetor on one of his best client's Cadillac, I earned Darius's respect, and left that day with my first paycheck: 50 cents.

I remember grasping the coins in my hand and looking up at Darius hopefully. "Come back whenever you want and I'll give you 50 cents a day," he told me. "Can't pay you more, you're not even supposed to be working at your age, thank you Mr. Roosevelt." I learned that day that Darius was a Republican, through and through, and it was better not to mention the President or his New Deal.

On the way home, Gale sniffed and complained about Darius being a cheapskate and paying me under the table, but I didn't care. I finally had a way to make money for my family. I remember calculating in my head: 50 cents a day, 6 days a week, would be $3 a week. $12 a month. Enough to pay our $8 a month in rent, and $4 left over, giving us $1 a week to live on. More than before, but still certainly not enough to feed 3 people.

My money from The Hob kept us going for a while, and at least kept us from being homeless. But everything was tight. No new clothes, no birthday gifts, no extras. We went to bed hungry and woke up hungry, and there never seemed to be enough to go around. We didn't even have electricity until I dropped out of school and started my job at Capital Electric.

As I scrubbed the leftover pancake from our plates, I smiled to myself thinking of the days when Gale and I both worked two jobs together. I had decided to drop out just a few weeks into high school and follow Gale to better wages at Capital Electric. Gale was already working there, and kept his job at The Hob on nights and weekends, so I thought I could do the same. Things were starting to look up all around us. I saw working as the only way to help my family get ahead, not just stay in survival mode. And I could keep Prim, the smartest girl in her class, from a similar fate; maybe she could even graduate. So I dropped out, and two days later, convinced a foreman that I was 16, and found myself sweeping floors on the main level. Gale would meet me for lunch, and on nice days we would sit outside, close our eyes to the sun and talk about our plans for the future. I had already resigned myself to a life living in the Seam, working at Capital, and taking care of Prim and my mother. But Gale wanted to see the world, make lots of money, and have women hanging off his arms. I scoffed at his notions and told him he was crazy. No one left the Seam. He would simply pull a few stems of grass out of the ground, squint away from me, and say, "We'll see, Catnip."

But then the war started, Gale left, along with almost all the men in the neighborhood, and things changed. I guess he did get to see the world like he wanted, I thought sadly to myself.

Around the time that Gale left, my mother started coming out of her silent mourning. I think it was still too much for her, though, being in the house where she had lived with my father. She soon took a job at the County Hospital, using her background as the neighborhood midwife to get into the maternity ward. She was gone almost all day and all night, and we only saw her when she sleeping on the couch, still unable to sleep in the bed she shared with my father. But two women's salary was certainly better than one, and before long, we had cereal, milk, even meat on the table, when we had the ration coupons. Prim had new shoes, even if they were cheap, and we had heat and electricity again. Ironically, life during the war for us was good.

I still had to play mother to Prim, and walked her to school every day before I left for work, pulling her along past the merchant shops and telling her to hurry up when she lingered at the windows. Like the bakery window, her favorite. Even with my new salary, I never let her stop and get a cake or cookie. Paycheck or no, we were still Seam, and long held prejudices lingered.

The thought of the bakery snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized that I had been washing the same plate for over a minute. I usually wasn't this dreamy, and didn't allow myself time to think about what had happened over the last decade. But last night and Peeta's actions made me feel more self-conscious about who I was and where I lived. What was his plan, anyway? Would he really think of me as a friend? What do friends do anyway? Gale and I had spent lots of time together, but it was so natural, and felt like more than a friendship. More like a kinship. And I missed having that in my life.

I groaned internally at the hole I had dug myself into by asking Peeta to be friends. But I couldn't help the flurry in my stomach that he gave me last night. More so than Gale had ever given me, and I thought he was the bees knees at 14. Could I even be "just friends" with Peeta?

I quickly shook my head of the thought and wiped my hands on my overalls. My outfit was light years away from my one last night; blue baggy overalls over a man's undershirt and work boots. I still worked at The Hob when I could, helping Darius out and keeping my mechanic skills up to par. I glanced at the clock. If I didn't leave now, I would be late, and Darius would pull my braid and lecture me about keeping chicks around the shop.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo 

The next day was Sunday, and I was late yet again, this time for church. I could hear the bells chiming as I raced down the street, my bag hitting my thighs and the ends of my open coat flapping in the breeze. My mother and Prim had already gone to an earlier Mass, but they knew better than to wake me early on the weekend. The 10:30 service was filled with us late risers, women with young children desperate to get out of the house and hung-over twenty-somethings.

I leapt up the steep row of steps leading up to the church – a cathedral, really, built years ago by Polish immigrants new to the city and desperate for the churches of the old country. The tall stone spires majestically towered over the neighborhood, as if a constant reminder of its presence. It seemed as though the whole neighborhood centered around this one church. Sure, there were the public school kids whose parents either didn't go to church or simply didn't care, and a couple of Jewish families, but almost everyone I knew went to St. Michael the Archangel church and school.

I reached into my bag to find my head scarf – necessary for women to enter the church – and I suddenly see it, in my mind, sitting on top of my dresser. "Oh no," I pleaded, searching for something, anything that could cover my hair. My entire bag possessed only my pocket book, a few loose coins, bus fare stubs, and the remnants of my lunch from Friday.

I threw my head back in disgust and sighed, knowing that now I wouldn't be able to go to church, and would have to attend Confession next Saturday in order to properly receive Communion. If there was anything I avoided more in my life as a Catholic, it was confessing my personal thoughts and sins to an old, snoring priest.

"Looking for something?" I turned around and saw Peeta walking up the steps in the same suit he had worn on Friday night, only with a different tie, paisley this time.

"Oh, hi. Do you, ah, do you go here?"

"Not really. Well, sometimes. Mainly Christmas and Easter. My family isn't big on going to church. How about you?"

"Me? Oh, I grew up here. Went to school here too until, I, um, had to leave." I went back to rooting through my bag, avoiding his gaze. "Funny, I don't remember seeing you come to mass ever. I'm sure I would have remembered seeing you."

I heard Peeta chuckle, and I hoped he didn't take my last comment as flirtation. "Yeah, well, God and I didn't always get along."

"What made you come back?"

I paused and looked directly at him, hoping that I hadn't offended him. Asking about someone's religion was "the height of rudeness," according to my spinster Aunt Effie.

"Ever hear the saying, there are no atheists in a foxhole? Well, let's just say sometimes war makes a believer out of you." I nodded and went back to my bag.

"So, what are you looking for?" He asked again.

I sighed. "My head scarf. I left it at home, and usually I have a Kleenex or something…"

"Here," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. "You can use this."

He handed me a plain white store-bought handkerchief, soft and well-washed. On one of the corners was stitched "PM" in blue letters. Peeta Mellark.

"Thanks," I muttered, and grabbed a couple of bobby pins from my coin purse. "Here, hold this," and I threw my purse into his arms as I secured the hankie to the top of my head. A smell of clean soap and yeast drifted down front atop my head.

I looked up at Peeta and he stifled a snicker. "Shut up," I told him, and grabbed my purse.

"No, it suits you. You should wear my hankie out more often."

"Shut up, Peeta, we've already missed the procession." I spun on my heel and went to open the heavy oak doors to the church. Of course, Peeta reached them first and held it open for me.

My heels clicked on the marble floors of the entryway and I could hear the Latin already radiating through the chapel. I could hear Peeta's dress shoes follow me through the second set of doors, and we both dipped our hands into the holy water font at the same time. The touch of his fingertips was electrifying, as it had been two nights before. I caught his glance for a mere second before chastising myself for thinking such thoughts. In the holy water. In church. I was going straight to hell.

It was even worse through the entire mass. I was surprised that Peeta had followed me to my usual spot in the back pews, and sat right next to me the whole time. I tried to keep my eyes forward or down, but I couldn't help but _feel_ his presence the entire time. The warmth of his body sitting next to me, the way he still kept bouncing that knee nervously. I noticed that he double tied his shoelaces. That he bit his nails. That his breath smelled warm and minty. He was so close to me on the kneelers that I could feel his breath on my cheeks and completely forgot where we were in the hymnal. I spent the next hour paying little attention and mostly noticing the man whose initials I wore on my head.

At the end, we both allowed a glimpse at one another and each gave a small smile. He started to walk towards the doors but without telling him, I veered left and went to the Marian shrine, where rows of small red candles danced before the statue. I dug in my bag once more and picked out two pennies to slip into the collection box and then, as I did every Sunday, I lit two candles. One for my father, and one for Gale. I gazed up at the statue of Mary, her haloed head bowed towards her folded hands, blue and white dress flowing outward. Perfect and pure. Everything I felt I wasn't. My father had always told me to pray to Mary, and she would intercede on my behalf to her Son. I wondered how my prayers could be answered, especially when I had no faith, no trust in my fellow man. I wasn't even sure what I was praying for. Yet here I was, paying and praying to the middle man.

When I turned around, Peeta was waiting for me. He didn't ask about my two candles, and I didn't tell him. We walked out of the church together silently. It was strange to see him in a place so different from the ballroom of two nights ago, and I felt awkward about what to say to him. He kept walking next to me as I turned in the direction of the Seam, and luckily broke the silence for both of us.

"So, um, I'm actually thinking of getting my own place. See those houses over there?" He pointed down the street from the church to the collection of two and three flats that peppered down the street. "Old Mrs. Alberts is renting out her downstairs space. Might take her up on the offer."

"You don't want to live at home anymore?"

"Nah. It's too weird. Plus, my mom and I don't really get along."

I nodded. I remembered the bakery's mistress. She always glared at us Seam kids with scorn as she swept the front stoop of the building, as if our mere presence might taint the cream puffs. I had heard many stories involving her rudeness to Seam customers, refusing them the freshest bread loaves and frightening the children away from drooling over the cakes in the window. It was the reason – besides abject poverty – I had always avoided the bakery, and tried to distract Prim's request to go inside. The last thing I wanted was to hear yet another shopkeeper label us Seam trash.

"What about working at the bakery?" I asked.

"Well, I still have my job there. At least I think I do. I like the bakery and all, but I'd like to do other things too. Maybe I'll go to college."

"College?" I didn't know anyone who went to college. "What would you do there?"

"I dunno, study, take classes, meet people. I like the draw, maybe I could take art classes."

"You draw?" Peeta was suddenly full of surprises. He had traveled half way around the world, knew how to bake and draw, wanted to live on his own, go to college. I, on the other hand, was stuck making kitchen phones and spent my weekends covered in motor oil. "Well, Mr. Mellark, you're turning out to be a regular Renaissance Man, aren't you?" I teased him.

"No, I just like to doodle and stuff. It's a stupid idea, I should probably just study business or something. Or stay at the bakery. What would I do with an art degree?"

I stopped walking and turned to him. "I was kidding. Seriously, if you love art, then do art. Make yourself happy, Peeta. Find out what you love and follow it."

Peeta didn't smile at me like I thought he would, but instead stared deeply at my face with an almost desperate look. "Maybe I will. You still have no idea the effect you can have, you know."

I raised my eyebrows and touched his shoulder lightly. "So you'll listen to me, then?"

"Always."

I nodded and started walking again. "Well, good. Life is too short to not make yourself happy. You should know that, Mr. War Hero."

Peeta seemed to smile to himself about something. We continued walking in silence, and yet again Peeta seemed to insist on walking me home. In the daylight, the Seam looked even worse, especially with shoeless children running in the streets, mangy dogs barking, and every front porch covered in mothers and diapered babies, shouting at one another from across the bent fences. I could already see the gossip mill starting as they started at me walking home with a merchant boy.

"I'd like to see you again, Katniss," Peeta replied when we reached my house yet again.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I, um, I don't know about that."

"I like talking to you. Come to a movie with me."

I smiled. "There's no talking during the movies."

"Then come have dinner with me."

"Peeta, I work a lot, and I have to take care of Prim and the house and-"

"I won't take no for answer. What do I have to do to convince you to spend time with me?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know, bribery?" He wasn't joking though, he still looked serious and expectant. I sighed. "I'll think about it, ok?"

Peeta smiled and pointed at me. "That's not a no. I like it!" He started walking back down the street.

"I didn't say yes!" I shouted after him.

"You will!" he shouted back without turning around. I had to chuckle at his persistence. We'll see, I smiled to myself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_So sorry that it took me so long to update. Real life has been a bitch lately. But writing is a great outlet, so here's hoping the next chapter won't take too long. Enjoy, and as always, thank you for all your kind reviews and comments. You guys are an amazing audience to write for!_

_I own nothing, and this is just for funsies._

His words rang out and hung in the crisp cool air. "You said bribery would work. So, I brought you a bribe."

Monday morning, I left for work as usual, scurrying down the street in my skirt and saddle shoes. The cold air immediately sent goosebumps down my bare legs and I cursed the new rules of Capital Electric demanding that "ladies dress like ladies." It took me several long city blocks to reach the Merchant district where the bus stop stood, directly across the street from the train station and kiddie corner to the bakery. Always open early for workers wanting to catch a pastry or a donut on the way to work, its windows already glowed warmth and sweetness. As always, I avoided such luxuries, and clung to my bag lunch of Sunday evening leftovers.

I deliberately kept my eyes away from the bakery and fixed them instead on the street, shifting my cold feet impatiently for the bus along with about 20 other commuters also waiting for the city bus to take them to Capital Electric. The company truly had hired an entire neighborhood, and almost everyone I knew relied on its payroll department somehow.

I almost didn't feel the tap on my shoulder. I shrugged it off as another commuter bumping into me, but I felt another tap and a man clearing his throat. I turned around and there was Peeta, smiling widely, his blue eyes shining.

"You said bribery would work. So, I brought you a bribe." He held up a white paper bag.

I stood there in silence, not sure what to say. The white bag was slightly greasy on the bottom and I hungrily wondered what he had brought. I had only eaten half of a pancake that morning, giving the rest to Prim and claiming that I wasn't hungry when I really was. He cleared his throat again. "So, you said you liked cheese buns and you promised that you would try mine."

I stayed silent, still scowling at the white bag.

"I, um, I saw you from across the street and I thought that, perhaps, you could tell me if you liked them."

"You, you saw me?" I stammered.

"Yes. I mean, I've been up since 4 am baking, and I knew that you worked at Capital, and I figured that I would catch you before work." I then noticed that not only was Peeta not wearing a coat in this chilly weather, but he was only wearing a white undershirt and a white apron over it, with flour covering most of the apron and clinging to the blond goosebumps on his arm. I couldn't help but admire how broad his shoulders were under the clinging undershirt.

"So," Peeta's voice cracked, "how about that movie? We could go tonight." By now, some of the commuters were turning around and looking at us, and I could feel my cheeks turning bright pink.

"I'm busy. I, um, have to help Prim with her homework tonight."

"Oh." Peeta looked a little disappointed, but tried to keep a smile on his face. "Well, I hope you enjoy the cheese buns. You'll have to tell me how they are."

"I can't take these."

"Sure you can! They're fresh from this morning. I need your opinion. I need to know if I can still bake or not after shooting Germans for the last couple of years," he winked.

Bringing up the war made me feel guilty for refusing his company. What if he was just a lonely soldier looking for friendship? But he had Finnick and his family. What could I possibly offer?

Peeta coughed into his fist and rubbed his hands together to keep warm. "Well, maybe next time you're free we can try for that movie."

"Yeah, sure, next time," I said as I grabbed the bag from his hands and saw the bus coming down the street. I muttered a quiet thanks to him as I stepped into the bus line. He stood there, watching me, and waved from the sidewalk as I took a window seat. I gave a little wave back, but felt my face go into its familiar scowl. What exactly was that?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

He was there the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Tuesday was slices of warm raisin bread. Wednesday a strawberry Danish. Thursday a box of chocolate chip cookies. Every time, I told him that I was busy that night, and every day, he showed up with another bag and another request to go to the movies that evening. He was always respectful and friendly, not pushy or cheesy like some guys could be. He never wore a coat, just that adorable shirt and apron combo, and always bounced on his feet and blew into his hands as he asked me out. And each morning, I denied him again and again. But I just couldn't say yes to him. I was scared of rumors, of getting Prim's' hopes up, and maybe, I was a little afraid of how Peeta himself made me feel. Whenever I saw him run out of the bakery with a white bag in his hands, looking hopeful and far too cheerful for this early in the morning, my stomach went into ripples and my palms would sweat. He made me nervous and excited at the same time, and I had never felt anything quite like it.

By Friday, as much as I hated to admit it, I started looking forward to Peeta's little white bag of treats. Each treat was absolutely delicious and melted in my mouth. I had saved some of the cookies on Thursday to share with Annie at work, and we both agreed that they were the most delectable we've ever had. "Nothing like the cheese buns on Monday, though. Those were the best," I told her. She never ask me where I got all these treats, and I pretended not to notice the small knowing smile on her face.

As I walked towards the bus stop, I grinned to myself and I wondered what he would bring today. And when I looked up, there he was, holding a huge white box in his hands that he thrust into my hands once I reached the corner.

"I won't take no for an answer today. Look, I even bought the tickets already." He held up two ticket stubs for the nearby Palermo theater.

"What's in the box?" I asked curiously.

"Two dozen donuts. I made them for you."

"You made all these?" I peered in the box and saw row after row of chocolate and vanilla covered spheres. "What I am supposed to do with two dozen donuts?"

"You can share them if you like, but I made them especially for you. Now, will you go to the movies with me tonight?"

"Sweetheart, just say yes and put the poor boy out of his misery!" I hadn't noticed the crowd of commuters staring at us yet again. Several of them were smiling in our direction.

I sighed. Now he had the employees of Capital Electric on his side, and I was running out of excuses. "Fine, we'll go to the movies tonight." I tried to sound exasperated, but inside I was jumping with excitement and nerves.

Peeta smiled widely and reached into the box. He pulled out a chocolate cream donut and handed it to a man in a black fedora, the one who had called me sweetheart.

"Special thanks to the man who helped me out!" I rolled my eyes and clutched the box a bit tighter. Great, now the whole bus stop knew my personal life.

"I have to go, but I'll pick you up at 7. Enjoy the donuts!" Peeta seemed to bubble with excitement as he jogged across the street back to the bakery.

"About time, sweetheart," the man in the hat told me once Peeta was gone. "That boy has been out here freezing his pants off just to get a date with you. Haven't you snubbed him enough?"

I scowled at him. "It's not a date."

"Sure it isn't, sweetheart," the man bit into his donut. "Gotta admit, the boy makes some good donuts."

"I think it's very romantic," an older woman next to me said.

I rolled my eyes again and used my knees to hike up the ridiculously huge box I was now forced to carry all morning. "If I give you all a donut, will you shut up about it?" The woman smiled sweetly and shook her head while the man in the hat pried open the lid and helped himself to another donut.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Enjoy that movie now," he told me with a full mouth. I decided right then and there that I did not like my fellow commuters one bit. Especially Mr. Glutton over there.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When I arrived at work, I set the box of donuts in the middle of the workroom, and immediately the other girls started swarming around me, stuffing their mouths with donuts and asking me where I got them all. I shrugged it off and said, "Just from a friend." I made sure to snag a chocolate one in the corner before they disappeared.

As I sat down at my station and started to gather together the pieces of the phone I had started the night before, I felt a cold, firm hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw Mr. Cray smiling widely at me with his yellow cigarette stained teeth. He smelled like the beer he drank for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. "Can I speak to you in my office, Ms. Everdeen?"

Cray always gave me the creeps. The way he looked at us – no, gaped at us – was unsettling, and he was well known for squeezing girls' behinds and dropping sheets of paper at our feet, forcing us to bend over and allowing him a glimpse down our shirts. I always kept my distance, knowing full well that getting on his bad side would mean either being fired or groped in his office. Many girls left his office in tears, and any complaints meant their disappearance from the department and sometimes, the company itself.

I squared my shoulders and prepared myself for what Cray had waiting for me in his office. Dropped papers? Being forced to let him drool over my face? What would a bored and lonely Cray ask of me, and how far would I go to keep my job?

But as soon as I entered his office, I noticed someone else sitting in his office, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Cray wouldn't dare try anything in front of another male employee.

Cray closed the door behind, breathing a little too close on the back of my neck, and motioned for me to take a seat. I sat opposite his cluttered desk and couldn't help but stare at the pile of this week's apple cores sitting on a plate in one corner. Cray was indeed a dirty old man.

"Katniss, this is Seneca Crane. Crane comes from our advertising department, and has just been moved up to Vice President of Employee Relations."

I turned my head to the side and looked at this Mr. Crane, who nodded as Cray described him. He was young, definitely older than me, but still had a young look to his face. His black hair was combed back in a slick style, and he kept his hand over his trim beard, coaxing the stubble with palm.

I said nothing and just stared at Crane. He smiled slyly at me, and moved his hand to his ankle crossed over his knee. He sat in Cray's office as if it was a nightclub and he hadn't a care in the world.

"You should be say hello to him, Katniss," Cray sneared.

"Hello," I said as monotone as possible.

Mr. Crane smiled wider and returned to scrubbing his beard. "Ms. Everdeen. It's a pleasure. I'm in a new position, you see, and it's my responsibility to bring Capital Electric into the new era."

I must have looked confused at this, for he chuckled and continued. "You see, Ms. Everdeen, post-war America is different. It has more energy, more excitement. It's booming. Business is booming. I can just see it over the horizon. And we need to make sure that Capital Electric stays on top."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Ms. Everdeen, we are aware that you have been very useful to the company for the past several years. And we thank you for all of your service. But, unfortunately, we no longer have a need for young ladies such as yourself doing mechanical work."

This was it, I thought. I was about to get canned. I took in a deep breath and held it.

"All of you girls, all of you have done so much for your country and for your fellas. But it's time to go back where you belong. Back to the home."

"And when we're in the mood, the bedroom," Cray added and snickered. Crane shot him an exasperated look, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"So I'm fired then?" I asked, wanting to get this little meeting over as quickly as possible.

"No, no, no," smiled Crane, "not you. Most of the girls out there, yes, we will be letting them go systematically, but you, you are one of the lucky ones. Cray has recommended you for relocation. Like I said, we want to reward your service to the company. Relocated, yes, but still a member of our team," he beamed.

"Relocated?"

"Just moved to a different, more female-friendly department. We like to keep the face of Capital a pretty one, so we're moving you to a more public setting. I mean, we have all these lovely ladies already working here, might as well make them useful, right?"

He then spoke to my boss – my former boss, now – as if I wasn't even in the room, as if I didn't have the urge to run out of the room and warn the dozens of girls on the other side of the glass not to rely on their weekly paychecks anymore. Sure, some of them did expect to leave as soon as V-Day was announced, but most of those girls already left voluntarily. The rest of us either needed to stay for the money, or simply didn't know what else to do.

I turned to Cray and he winked at me. Crane slapped his knees and stood up. "Well, that's all for now, Cray, I'll let you know when I have more openings downstairs, and later this month we'll look into taking care of the rest of them. Keep an eye out for more pretty faces." He pinched my cheek before crossing the office and walking out the door.

We too then left the room, and Cray walked me to my station, his cold hand touching my lower back. I gathered up my belongings in silence, hearing the other girls whisper to each other. No one said a word to me or to Cray; the silent smirk on his face and the scowl on mine probably said enough. "Back to work, ladies, nothing to see here," he commented as he lead me out of the room and towards the elevators. I took a quick glance back towards the cabinets in the middle, looking longingly at the giant white box, now empty, that I had lovingly carried all the way to work just an hour ago.

You can do this, I said to myself. Wherever they put you, you can do this. But instead, I could feel the tears and lump in my throat, which I quickly swallowed for fear of giving Cray a reason to hug me or console me in his disturbing way. We rode down the elevator towards the main floor in silence. I calculated the amount of money we know needed – rent, food, bus fare, Prim's tuition (the "poverty scholarship" once given had long been taken back). My mother's salary and mine barely covered the necessities, and my money from The Hob gave us a little extra to put aside for savings, but it was certainly not enough to make ends meet. I let out an audible sigh as I realized that I couldn't smack Cray on the side of his face and tell him I'd rather quit than be demoted. Sorry, "relocated." Once again, I had to swallow my pride. For Prim, I told myself. Do it for Prim.

Cray heard my sigh and laughed. "Oh, don't worry, honey, you'll like it down here and I'll come visit you whenever I get a chance." I cringed yet again and kept my eyes forward.

The elevator stopped and we stepped out into the main lobby. Cray guided me past the reception desk and couches and towards the long hallway on the opposite side, where the employee "benefits" buildings were, and I instantly realized I would be working. Capital Electric had a long tradition of "taking care" of their employees, so they said, and they set up what was almost a little city in itself for its employees. This hall connected all the buildings to one another, and employees never really had to rely on anything outside of the company-run services. Payment came out of their next paycheck, of course, leaving many employees beholden to the company for months, sometimes years. Something the merchants nearby didn't exactly appreciate, I thought, and the image of Peeta holding up his movie tickets came into my mind instantly. I pushed the thought quickly from my mind and tried to focus on where Cray was taking me to be "relocated." The company store. The company barber shop. The company bank. The company laundry. The company hospital and nursing staff. The company greenhouse. The company gym. Where exactly was Crane putting me and my supposed pretty face? Not that damn beauty pageant they hold every year, I hoped.

But before I could consider all my options, Cray stopped at the company restaurant. He once again guided me through the glass doors and we walked towards the back. The restaurant was already bustling with customers, and the clank of silverware on plates was noisily filling the air, along with the smell of grease and potatoes. An older woman wearing a pink apron around her thick frame met us before we could reach the kitchen.

"Brought another one for me, huh? Well, I'll take it from here. You can leave now, Cray, unless you need to stick around and not do your job again." She grabbed me by the waist and started shoving me towards the swinging door of the kitchen. I glanced back at Cray with his mouth open as he handed her my paperwork. If she could sass Old Cray around, then I already liked this woman.

She met me through the doors and threw my papers onto a small desk. "Well, welcome to Capital Restaurant. I'm Sae, by the way," she pointed to her nametag, "but everyone around here calls me Greasy Sae. I run the restaurant, and you-" she paused, grabbing my upper arms. "Hmm. Yes, you are my new waitress. You think you can carry about a twenty pound tray on one arm?"

"Um, I think so."

"Good. Well, then," she glances at my papers, "Katniss, let's get you an apron and start you off right away. Lunch rush will be starting soon."

She handed me a pink apron that matched hers, and lead me past several men working on the grills. "They just keep sending you gals down here, don't they?" she laughs heartily. "Rosie the Riveter turned Wendy the Waitress. Well, I'm not complaining, I need the help and you need the job. Some of yous just don't work out though, ya know? Can't keep up with the pace and can't handle the customers. But," she turned around and faced me, "I like you. I think you'll be good."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, honey, don't ma'am me, we're all in this together. Now, here in the back, your eyes and ears will be little Rue over here." She introduced me to a tiny girl with dark brown skin and round bright eyes rolling up tubes of silverware. "She sort of runs the show in the kitchen. I'd let her go out front, but Snow and his cronies would throw a fit if a black girl serves them their food."

"Don't matter that I could spit it in, though," I heard Rue mutter to herself under her breath. She looked up at me cautiously and I smiled, both at her and her joke. She immediately looked back down, but I caught the glimpse of a smile on her lips as well.

"If you have any problems with orders," Greasy Sae continued, "you just let Rue know. Things can get wild around here." She keeps walking and talking at me without turning around, directing me to this or that, the cash register over there, the order slips over there. Then she takes me to a red-headed girl wearing the same pink apron, leaning over the back counter and smacking her gum.

"Bridget, this is Katniss." Bridget turns around and smacks her gum while giving me the once-over.

"Another one, Sae? Really?"

"Yes, Bridget, really. Now train her and show her around, while ya? I got food orders to place. Damn butcher keeps sending me dog meat, I swear." With that, Greasy Sae disappears through the swinging door and I'm left with an indignant Bridget.

She smacked her gum while staring at me, and I couldn't help but think that her thin, pointy face reminds me of a fox. A sly fox, actually. But, I had to admit, she was rather pretty. She had that pure Irish look about her, pale white skin with just the hint of freckles, bouncing red curls, and a curvy but slender body. She reminded me of the popular girls at St. Michael's, the ones who always teased me about my olive complexion and braided hair, calling me Pocahontas. I returned her sly stares with a scowl and wondered if she would be the same.

"Alright then," she said after a full minute of staring has gone by. "Let's see what you got, Katniss."

It turned out that Foxface (as I called her in my head) was actually quite smart, and showed me all sorts of tricks and shortcuts in my new job. "Turn over," she told me. "It's all about the turn over. Get 'em in, get 'em fed, get 'em out. There's always more where that one came from. And if they're late for work, you can fired, believe it or not."

The next thing I knew, the lunch rush hit, and it was just me and foxfaced Bridget taking orders and delivering food for 20 tables, plus the singles at the counter. My head was spinning with whose burger was well done and whose wasn't, who wanted another Coke, and who ordered the tuna on rye. And the lunch rush never seemed to end, since Capital released its workers in shifts. By 3:30, the rush seemed to die down, and just as I was about to grab a stool, Foxface glided past me and shook her head.

"Don't even think about sitting down, we've got to get ready for the coffee hounds coming in after work." I sighed and grabbed a rag to start wiping down counter, just as groups of men start filling the seats and asking for a cup of joe.

By 5:30, I was so exhausted I could barely see straight. Even our busiest days upstairs couldn't compare to this, and there was no sign of closing until the customers decided to leave. How I was supposed to do this every day, all day, plus work the Hob on weekends, I had no idea. Finally, Sae came out of the kitchen and officially pulled the "closed" sign over on the door as the last of the caffeine addicts left. She motioned for all of us to follow her towards the kitchen, hollowing "Payday!" behind her.

I had almost forgot, Friday meant payday! I eagerly joined the others in line and patiently waited my turn for that sweet piece of paper. No matter how hard I worked, seeing that amount in writing every week meant it was all worth it and my family wouldn't go hungry as we did in the past.

But when I looked down at the check Sae gave me, it was less than half of what it normally was. I waited until everyone was gone except for Sae hunched over her desk and Rue wiping down the grills in the back. I cleared my throat. "Um, Sae, my check is a little low."

She didn't look up from her writing. "It is what it is, honey."

I couldn't go home with this little, I just couldn't. Even with the loose change in my pocket from tips, it wasn't enough. "Well, um, I don't understand."

Sae looked up, and, perhaps seeing my worried face, sighed and put her pencil down. "Honey, I'm sorry. This happens when they send you gals down here. Your pay is cut because they say you'll earn the rest on tips. And – now this is coming from up high, not from me – they say that the girls don't need as much. That you have husbands or fathers to take care of the rest." My face fell and I fought back the tears. The supposed safety net of a husband or a father was not in my life.

Sae grabbed my hand and held it in her soft, wrinkled one. "I'm sorry. I really am. If I could pay you more, I would."

"But I worked upstairs almost the entire week! Shouldn't I get-" Sae cut me off.

"No, honey. They don't care. You're a waitress now. Tips and husbands, that's what they'll say if you complain. I've seen it before. Now, chin up. You come back on Monday and we'll get you those tips. Better than nothing, right?"

I nodded and turned around to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Rue looking in my direction, but I had neither the energy or the strength to turn towards her.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxo

Once home, I didn't have the nerve to tell Prim or my mother the news. It was one of the rare occasions where my mother joined us for dinner, and Prim beamed so widely that I didn't have it in me to share my awful day with them. So we sat and ate our spaghetti dinner while Prim rattled on about school dances and football games. I ate quietly and pushed my noodles around in the sauce, recognizing the recipe as my grandmother's specialty.

Just as I was colleting the bowls for the dishes, there was a quick knock at the front door. My stomach instantly went into knots. All my thoughts had been caught up with work and bills; I had completely forgotten about my date with Peeta.

Prim and I exchanged knowing glances, and I quietly mouthed "Peeta" to her. She nodded and pushed me towards the bedroom. "Just clean up quickly and I'll let him in." And with that, she closed the door behind me.

I could hear my mother and Prim talking in hushed tones, and I heard the knock again, followed by the creak of the front door and a man's voice. Shot, he's in my house. He's in my house, he's in my house, I repeated nervously like a mantra.

They were still talking, although muffled by the bedroom door, as I frantically looked about the room for something to wear. I settled on a wool skirt and green sweater, old but definitely one of my nicer outfits. There was no time to fix my hair or makeup like Prim did before, but then again he saw me with in my braid and housedress at church just a week ago. What do I care anyways, it's just the movies and he's just a friend, right?

I quickly redid my braid and then spotted the lone red lipstick in our house sitting on Prim's dresser. I peered into the mirror on the wall a little too closely and smudged the lipstick onto my lips quickly, pouting my lips into a kiss afterwards, just like Prim had me do a week ago. I sighed when I stepped back and patted down my skirt. It would have to do. I pulled my braid over my shoulder and stepped out into the living room.

There was Peeta, wearing khakis and a sport coat, his hair slicked back, sitting on the edge of our worn-out sofa, bouncing his knee furiously. My mother sat silently across the room from him, looking shocked that a young man was here to take her daughter out on a Friday night. Or maybe, shocked that she hadn't known the details of my life for so long.

Prim beamed at me from her corner chair. I gave her a quick wink and turned towards Peeta. He shot up from his seat as soon as he saw me, and kept wringing his hat in my hands. But despite his nervous body, his eyes remained soft and focused on me, and I found myself breaking into a smile just as he did.

My mother stood and interrupted our staring contest. "Well, I'm sure you two will have a wonderful time. Peeta, it was very nice to meet you. Say hello to your father for me."

I shot my mother a confused look, but before I could say anything, Peeta replied, "Of course, Mrs. Everdeen. And I'll bring Katniss back right after the movies. No later than 10:00." My mother just smiled and nodded. Peeta could charm the pants off just about anyone.

I reached for my old brown coat, but Peeta beat me to it, and slipped it on over my shoulders. I pulled my hat over my head, and Peeta did the same as we walked towards the front door. I waved a couple of fingers towards Prim and my mother, and Prim practically followed up out the door. "Have fun!" she shouted after us. "Tell me all about the movie! Oh, and get popcorn! I hear they have the best popcorn!" I heard the door shut softly behind us as a rush of cold air hit our faces.

Yet again, Peeta and I found ourselves walking down Crawford Street in an uncomfortable silence. The glow of the gas lamps gave the street a soft orange glow, and I wondered to myself when the Seam would get the new electric lights.

Peeta broke the silence first. "So, your family seems nice."

I smiled. "Yeah, they're ok."

"I can see where you get those good looks."

I smirked and rolled my eyes. I looked nothing like my mom and sister, who were both blessed with soft blond hair and blue eyes. Somehow, the Sicilian blood of my father's went entirely to me and skipped my sister completely.

"You're very protective of them, aren't you?" Peeta continued. "I could tell, from how you talked about your sister at the Aragon. I know you hard work to take care of them both."

Peeta's words hit me hard. I knew he meant it as a compliment, and was only being his kind, thoughtful self, but I couldn't take it. All of the pent-up tears and frustrations from my day at work came out – Crane's demeaning words, being on my feet all day, having men try to flirt with me, the cut in pay – and I suddenly released a huge sob.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Peeta genuinely asked, gripping me by the shoulders. I couldn't stop them. The tears flowed out in huge chunks and my shoulders began to shake under Peeta's clutch.

"Here, sit down, sit down," he told me as he guided me towards a bus stop bench on the corner, hidden slightly by a group of trees planted in squares of dirt within the cement. The streets were almost completely quiet, save the sound of the 'L' train roaring in the distance and the sound of me sobbing into my hands. Peeta wrapped his arm around my shoulders again and I leaned into him, letting the tears flow onto his shoulder as he shushed me. The smell of his sport coat was comforting, like aftershave and that familiar bakery scent, and I started to calm myself down, the sobbing stopped and replaced by sniffling.

I sat up, embarrassed by my very public breakdown, and pulled away from him slightly. Peeta let his arms fall, and started patting his pockets. "Sorry, I don't think I have a hankie or anything…"

I stopped sniffling and reached into my coat pocket. There was the "PM" hankie from last Sunday. I had kept it all week, sometimes rubbing my fingers against it while I waited at the bus stop, and I had hoped that Peeta hadn't remembered. I shamefully brought it out and held it out to him, my cheeks turning pink. "That's because I still have it."

"Keep it, it seems to come in handy for you." I laughed at his lame joke as I wiped my eyes, and he seemed to relax a bit. He leaned his head down towards mine, where I stared at the hankie in my lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head no. How could I tell Peeta the well-off merchant, Peeta the war hero, Peeta the kind gentleman, my work woes? I had gone on and on about my job when we were at the Aragon, about how wonderful it was to provide for my family and how I was shift manager during the war. What would he think of me wearing that stupid pink apron and slopping coffee cups around all day? He deserved a merchant girl with curls and soft hands, not someone who came home smelling of grease and cigars. I suddenly felt very silly for carrying about his hankie and the pastries all week long. I refused to look him in the eye, and instead looked up the street back towards the Seam, wondering how I could get out of this without more embarrassment.

Peeta's knee bounced up and down against the bench, and he took a deep breath. "You know, Katniss, I meant what I said. I really do want to get to know you. You don't have to tell me what's wrong, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whenever you're ready."

I suddenly whipped my head around to face him. "Why?" I asked him. I couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Why what?"

"Why me? What do you want with me?"

The corners of Peeta's mouth moved slightly. "I just do."

I let out a frustrated laugh, and turned away from him. "I mean, I'm obviously a mess. I'm from the Seam, I have no money, I'm not even particularly pretty." I shook my head. "I just don't understand." And then the tears started falling again, and I hid my eyes in the hankie. It still smelled slightly like bread.

He's quiet, and then I heard him start…

"You know, I used to watch you walk by here almost every day."

I stopped sniffling for a second and looked up from his handkerchief. He continued.

"I used to watch you walk to school down this very street," he nodded up towards the parish school. "When you were very little, you had your hair in two braids instead of one, and would hold onto your dad's hand, and the two of you would sing all the latest radio songs. Everyone did, only the two of you never noticed anyone else watching, like you were the only two that mattered in the world. And I swear, when you opened your mouth to join him, even the birds stopped to listen."

"Oh, please," I laughed, but his face was serious.

"I was so jealous, you know, of what you had with your dad. Of having a parent who actually wanted to spend time with you. I mean, my dad's alright, he's just quiet and not very affectionate. And my mom – well, you already know what she's like. But after a while, I never saw you with your dad anymore, just Prim and you walking to school, right past the bakery window. I'd watch out for you, while I was sweeping or something before school, and suddenly there you would be, trying to stop Prim from looking at the cakes in the window. I learned your name was Katniss from listening through the window, but that's all I knew. I always used to hope that you two would come in, but you never did."

He wasn't looking at me anymore, just talking and staring straight ahead. I looked right at him, though, listening and watching the blush form on his cheeks. "You were so pretty and always wore those plaid skirts and your hair in a long braid. All of us boys would watch the Catholic girls walk out from school, and we would wonder what was so fascinating about you all. Heck, Finnick practically had a fetish about the whole thing!" He smiled thoughtfully for a second, but then suddenly turned to me. "I watched you almost every day until I left for the Army, and then it was too late. I didn't even know your last name."

His eyes left mine and went to his clasped hands, jiggling slightly from his nervous knee. "Finnick knew all about you, and when he asked Annie to set me up with someone and she mentioned her good friend named Katniss…well, he started putting two and two together, and realized that you were that cute Catholic school girl that I had been so hung up on in high school. He set up the whole double date thing. I was so shocked when I first saw you outside the dance hall that I had to pinch myself to know that it was real.

"I thought about trying to find you, all throughout the war in fact, I thought about what I would do if I made it out there alive and got a chance to come home and find you. I thought for sure you had married some guy by now or something. But I promised myself that if I got out of there, I wouldn't be a coward and I wouldn't waste my time watching you. I would find you and I would make it count. And I'm trying so hard to make it count."

He finally stopped and looked up at me. I slumped my shoulders, and sat back on the bench, not knowing what to say. To me, Peeta was a stranger, a friend of a friend, just another boy in our large urban neighborhood. But he had been noticing me for years. Why had I never noticed him before?

"Well, say something. I just rambled there on for about five minutes," he said, laughing nervously.

I couldn't meet his eyes, I knew that they would be my undoing. "I'm not really good at saying something."

"I know that's a lot to hear. I just, I remember so much about you, but you weren't paying attention."

I bit my lip and tried to come up with a response. "I am now."

Peeta swung his head up and I saw him gulp. But then the nerves seemed to leave his face and he smiled. "Let's start with something more basic then. What's your favorite color?"

I chuckled into my lap at his childish question. "Green. What's yours?"

"Orange. Like the sunset."

"That sounds pretty." I dared to look up and his blue ones met mine, unsettling me once again. I could feel my cheeks burning.

Then, Peeta stood up, extending a hand to me. "Come on. You promised to be my movie companion for the evening."

And just like that, I clasped his hand, and we headed for the theater. Neither of us brought it up again that night, as though there was now an unspoken understanding between us, one made up of past secrets and a whisper of maybe, maybe something more. Peeta refused to let go of my hand, not throughout the entire movie, not when we jokingly threw popcorn at one another, not on the quiet walk home. And at my front door, when he leaned in for a hug goodbye, he pulled my arm behind my waist, and hugged me close while still clutching my right hand. And I realized when he finally let go and turned down the street that I ached for his hand to return to mine.


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter is much shorter than my other ones, but I wanted to update now after being gone for so long. I made a little Thanksgiving theme chapter here, although we're about two weeks late, but Christmas chapters will be coming up soon! An Everlark Christmas...sigh..._

**Chapter 4**

The next week flew by. A few more days at the restaurant gave me the experience I needed to handle the heavy crowds and rough customers, and soon I fell into a comfortable routine. Go to work, run around for about 11 hours, get off at 6, hurry home, shove dinner in my mouth, and collapse on my bed. Repeat. I snuck away on both Saturday and Sunday to work at the Hob, trying to get as much money into our house as possible. Prim, noticing the worry lines across my forehead, started to demand the right to get a job after school, but I wouldn't let her. I wanted at least one person in our family to graduate.

As busy as I was, my thoughts often went to Peeta. After our movie date – was it a date? – I avoided him the rest of the weekend by holing up at the Hob until dusk. Prim told me she saw him walking around our block on Sunday afternoon, but the mischievous look on her face made me call her a liar. On Monday, I watched for him from the morning bus stop, but he didn't come out of the bakery. I was slightly disappointed, but quickly shoved the feeling aside. For the rest of the week, I ignored the butterflies in my stomach each time I walked close by the bakery, refusing to look inside for a glimpse of his blond curls. Whatever was going on with the nice boy from the bakery, I had bigger fish to fry.

The days blurred together, and my muscles were constantly clenched in knots over our looming bills. Sae often came up behind me at work to massage my shoulders, telling me that I was making the whole place tense. But I couldn't help it. Thanksgiving week meant two whole days without pay, without tips, heck, even the Hob would be closed.

I finally had to tell Prim and my mother what was going on. Over dinner on Wednesday evening, I informed both of them that I had been "relocated," my pay cut, and that things would be tight once again. My mother just silently nodded, and looked softly into the distance, as she often did when faced with news that she didn't want to hear. I knew that she had retreated in her head back to the days when Dad was here, weekly paycheck in hand, and she wasn't still wearing shoes from 1932.

Prim took her hand in mine and gently squeezed to tell me that she knew. Her eyes briefly looked towards the fridge, where the invitation to her school's dance hung tauntingly. It was all she could talk about lately, and we had been planning to buy her a new dress and shoes just for the event. Her first fancy dress as a young woman. I knew what she was thinking: no more dancing with Rory Hawthorne next week. I hung my head towards the table and vowed to figure a way for Prim to go to that dance, even if it meant stealing a damn dress myself.

Prim's longing look quickly disappeared and she put on her brave smile. "Let's just skip Thanksgiving this year. I could make chicken soup instead, I saved the bones from earlier this week."

"Thanks, Prim. Soup sounds great." I took a deep breath. "I'll figure this all out. We'll still make it a nice weekend."

"It's ok, Katniss. Just think of how thankful the turkeys will be this year that we spared one of their brothers?" I chuckled; only Prim would think of the poor turkeys on Thanksgiving Day.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The next morning, I overslept and woke up to the sound of soft talking and the radio playing music in the background. The small alarm clock on my nightstand read 10:10. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and lazily wrapped my worn blue robe around my waist. I stepped out into the living room as I slowly unwrapped my hair from its nighttime braid, letting the waves fall upon my shoulders. I sleepily yawned and stretched my arms out as I entered the kitchen. "I smell bacon, how did we get-"

And then I stopped. There, at the stove, flipping pancakes and sizzling bacon, was Peeta Mellark. Wearing a fitted white undershirt under a stained baker's apron. In my kitchen. Making us breakfast.

I turned towards my mom and Prim, who sat at the kitchen table. Prim's eyes bulged out, and my mother calmly put down her cup of coffee and walked over by me.

"Katniss, Peeta came by with groceries to help us celebrate Thanksgiving today. Isn't that sweet of him?"

I stood in the door, still stunned, still staring at Peeta, who, in turned, stared at me in my robe. He eventually gulped and turned away from me and back to flipping pancakes with a spatula. My mother wrapped an arm around me and lead me towards my bedroom. "Why don't you get dressed and then come join us for breakfast, hmm?" I slowly nodded and let her lead me away.

As I started to change in my bedroom, I snapped out of my daze and the anger started to build inside of me. What the hell was he doing here? Did he think that we were his own personal charity case? That we needed his merchant class help to celebrate a damn holiday? I nearly pulled my hair out as I rebraided it and contemplated the whole situation.

When I entered the kitchen for a second time, I immediately walked up to Peeta still at the stove. He smiled and started to hand me a breakfast plate stacked high with pancakes and bacon, but instead I grabbed his elbow and started leading him towards the back porch. I heard my mother shout my name behind me, but I didn't care. Me and bakery boy were going to have a talk.

Once we were both on the porch with the door slammed behind us, I shoved Peeta backwards by his shoulders into the side of the house. "What the hell is all this?"

Peeta looked stunned but calmly replied, "It's breakfast. I'm making you breakfast."

"You need to go. You need to pack up all your food and whatnot and go."

"Why? Your mother and Prim invited me in when I came to drop off the food-"

I cut him off abruptly and shoved him away again. "We don't NEED your food! We don't need anything!"

"Katniss," Peeta placed his warm hands on my shoulders. "Breathe. I know you need the food. Please let me help you."

"I'm not someone's charity case," I said much more calmly, my eyes staring at the tops of my saddle shoes. "I can take care of my own family."

"I know you can. But I want to help. You told me that you lost half your wages. And frankly, Katniss, I can tell you haven't been eating. You've already lost weight since that night at the ballroom."

I couldn't argue with him on that. For the past week and a half, I had been skipping breakfast and eating scraps at the diner for lunch. I was letting all the food go to my mom and Prim, and I could already feel my clothes fitting looser on my frame. I just didn't think anyone else could notice.

Peeta picked my chin up with his finger and stood close enough to me that I could feel his pancake-scented breath upon my nose. "Please let me help. I have more than enough now, and I've wanted to help you out for years." He gently rubbed the side of my cheek. "Please? Think of it as a condition of our friendship." I couldn't say no to those pleading blue eyes. I nodded my head ever so slightly and Peeta removed his thumb and finger from my chin.

I cleared my throat. "For Prim. She deserves far more than I can give her."

"So you'll allow it?"

I nodded again and had to smile at his hopeful grin. "You can stay, but, what about your family? Aren't they celebrating today?"

Peeta sighed and kicked the wooden porch boards with his feet with his hands deep in his pockets. "Yeah, well, I'm sure they are, but I, uh, choose not to join them. My mom and I, we, uh, we don't get along."

"Yeah, you said something like that before."

"Holidays are usually the worst." He looked around and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "You know, I don't have to stay. I just wanted to drop off some food, and I can make something in my apartment, and I'm sure Finnick is up to something…"

It was then that I realized how awful I was being. Peeta didn't have anywhere to go on Thanksgiving. For whatever reason, he was avoiding his family, even after spending so much time away from them. And here I was, yelling at him for trying to be nice to mine. In the end, even without my dad, even without the security of money, I had so much in my life. What did Peeta have? What had he returned home to?

"No, stay. I'm sorry, it's just hard for me to accept gifts. Please stay." I grabbed his wrist lightly and he looked up at me wistfully.

"OK," he said quietly. And there we stayed, for a few moments, and I felt those butterflies from the weekend before, when we held hands for an entire evening and made each other laugh. The feeling scared me as it always did and I dropped his wrist before he could feel my palms sweat.

"You know, you can change your mind on the whole friendship thing," I laughed walked towards the back door. "The more you get to know me, the more you'll see why you shouldn't."

"Oh, I beg to differ, Ms. Everdeen."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xo

It turned out to be one of the best Thanksgivings for us Everdeens. Our family's attempts at cooking were nothing compared to Peeta's experience. As soon as breakfast was cleared, Peeta started cooking, making whipped potatoes, softened carrots and green beans, and, of course, a giant golden turkey roasting in our rusty old oven. And of course, ever the connoisseur of sweets, a sweet smelling pumpkin pie. It was more than we could have ever expected, and I couldn't help but be thankful, on this of all days. I spent most of the day with Peeta and Prim in the kitchen, listening to the Detriot-Chicago game on the radio and watching Peeta work. He was in his element, his fingers working nimbly as he rolled out the dough for the pie, sprinkling flour liberally and smearing it across his forehead as he pushed his blond bangs back. He listened intently to the game, pausing from his work to listen to specific plays and shaking his head as the Bears lost. Every so often, especially when Prim's back was turned, he would steal looks my way and I couldn't help but smile shyly back. The whole house seemed to smile with his charm. I had to admit to myself, Peeta not only fit into our lives, but he brought the sunshine with him.

After we devoured his delectable dinner, and the table was strewn with pumpkin pie crumbs and half-empty coffee mugs swirled with cream, I started gently collecting the chipped remnants of my mother's china. Peeta started to rise, but I pushed him back into his chair. "You cook, I clean, got it?" He chuckled and remained seated. My mother soon excused herself with a headache, and Prim, after stacking the plates by the sink for me, leaped into the air as the phone rang.

"I got it, I got it! It's Patsy, I got it!" she squealed, and, taking the phone quickly off the hook, looped the cord around the corner and into the pantry, squatting down and closing the door behind her.

I giggled and shook my head at her antics, and busied myself with the soapy sink in front of me. Peeta remained quietly sitting at the kitchen table behind me, but I could feel his eyes upon my back as I stacked the dishes on the counter. I calmly worked at each plate, remembering when they were once proudly displayed, and how I caught a glimpse of that pride again when my mother suggested we use them tonight. The kitchen was still quiet except for the sound of the radio, already playing Christmas carols, and the sound of Prim murmuring in the pantry, when I felt Peeta's warm frame behind me.

He held up a towel. "Can I at least help?" I nodded and went back to the dishes, yet all I could feel was him. Just him, so close to me and yet not touching.

When we were done, I shut off the water and dried my hands on the towel Peeta stretched out to me. I sat down at the table and helped myself to one of my mother's cigarettes. As I lit the end with a match, I caught Peeta's eye. "What's with the smoking?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked back as I kicked off my shoes and crossed my ankles a top a nearby chair.

"May I?" He gently grasped one foot and started kneading. I moaned quietly and he smiled. My feet had been aching all week, and the warm circles he was rubbing on them was like heaven. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"Mm-hm."

"So the smoking…"

"It's not that often, maybe like one a day. If that. Can't afford much more." I quirked my mouth slightly. "What are you, my mother? Everyone smokes, Peeta."

"I don't."

I laughed, my eyes still closed and enjoying the soft rubs he was giving me. "Yeah, well that's because you're-"

I stopped at my words, and Peeta stopped rubbing my feet. "I'm what?" His eyebrows arched upwards.

"You're just…you're just Peeta, that's all." I wasn't sure what I wanted to compare him to. He was charming, attentive, optimistic, yet I knew there was even more there, something deeper and sadder behind his eyes. I found myself contemplating this as he moved to my other foot, and those deep blue eyes found mine over and over again.

Prim suddenly bolted from behind the pantry door giggling and clasping the phone. "Oh my gosh, you won't believe – oh," she stopped when she saw Peeta's massaging my feet and I quickly snubbed out the remains of my cigarette. "Oh, it's nothing, it, it can wait. I'll let you guys be alone." And she snuck away towards our shared bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"I should go, I've overstayed my welcome," Peeta started standing up and I followed suit. I started to argue with him, telling him to stay, but Peeta cut me off.

"No, this was nice, this was really really nice. One of the best holidays I've ever had." He grabbed his coat off the wall and swung it over his shoulders. "Thank you, Katniss. You're very lucky to have such a family."

I squeezed my arms across my chest and followed him onto the front porch, where the cold air reminded us that winter was already here. Watching him walk away into the cold night awoke something inside of me, some sort to be close to him that I had never felt before. Peeta was halfway down the stairs when I called after him.

"Peeta, wait!" I cried, and I stopped at the top of the stairs while he turned around the bottom one, our heights finally aligned. Before I could change my mind, I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my head into his neck. He seemed stunned for a moment, but quickly returned the hug, breathing softly into my left ear.

"Thank you, Peeta. Thank you so much. For everything."

I felt him smile against the side of my face. "Anytime." And with a smile still broadened across his face, he pulled back. "I have to work tomorrow, all day, but Saturday, are you free? During the day?"

I hesitated, thinking about the money I could make at the Hob, but how I also promised Prim my weekend. As if he could read my mind, he added, "You could bring Prim. And her boyfriend. We'll make a day out of it."

"OK," I said quietly, my arms returning across my chest.

"OK. Then it's a date. See you later, Katniss." And he left.

I closed the door to our house and leaned my head back against it. My stomach was in knots and I wondered how I would occupy my time until Saturday. Another date? Am I officially dating Peeta? Prim peaked out of the bedroom and smiled upon seeing me. "I wonder where he's taking us."

"Prim! Eavesdropper!"

"What? He invited me too!" She practically skipped into the kitchen, yelling back something about attacking the leftovers, and I shook my head at her yet again. These two blondes would be the death of me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews. I didn't get a chance to respond to them this time, since real life is insanely busy, but I read all of them and feel insanely happy to hear that people are enjoying this story. I promised some Everlark Christmas and here it is! I hope to give them a Christmas Day together, but that will just have to wait until after the holiday craziness is over. _

_Oh, and because so many wonderful fanfic writers are on tumblr and I really really want a way to be able to compliment them without being anonymous, I decided to join tumblr. I posted a few WWII research things that I came across, and plan to add lots more, so check it out: malibu(dash)stacy(dash)writing._

_Enjoy!_

As promised, Peeta showed up at our front door once more on Saturday morning, looking far too bright and cheerful for an early weekend morning. Then I remembered that he probably woke up every morning at 5 am, and quickly sipped more black coffee into my system as I stared at two smiling blondes in my living room.

Prim was absolutely bursting at the seams when Peeta arrived, running from our bedroom to the dining room buffet mirror, trying on every hat we had in the house. I leaned against the counter and sipped at my coffee quietly, gesturing at the coffee cup to offer Peeta a cup. But he declined with a wave, and simply stood in the doorway, tapping his shoes nervously on the wooden planks.

I broke the silence first. "So, mystery man, where are you taking us? Prim will 'absolutely die,' so she claims, if she doesn't find out soon," I smiled into my mug.

"Well, I thought, it being the busiest shopping weekend of the year and all, that we should go downtown," Peeta grinned.

Prim overheard immediately. "Downtown? Downtown! Oh my gosh, I better wear the beret!" Prim skipped past me and I turned my head to laugh at her back.

"Peeta, you really don't have to-"

"Stop. I won't hear another word. We're going downtown and that's final."

I set my coffee down and began to put on my coat. "Ok, but I'll warn ya – my sister is never going to shut up about this." Peeta beamed his bright, wide smile at me and I returned the favor, the butterflies building once again in my stomach. How could I not feel something towards this nervous, good-hearted man who was willing to put up with my teeny-bopper sister for an entire day?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo 

After a quick stop by the Hawthornes' to grab a very nervous and red-faced Rory, we hopped onto the blue line and headed downtown. The train was packed and crowded, smelling like musty wool coats and paper bags, and both Peeta and I gave up the limited seats to Prim and Rory. With each stop, we found ourselves having to stand closer and closer, until we were literally breathing on top of each other, our bodies swaying this and that way to the curves and bumps of the tracks. I gripped the warm metal bar above my short height, and Peeta's hand held on just a fraction of an inch above mine, giving him the ability to lean directly over me. I kept glancing above me, to find Peeta's blue eyes hovering over mine with a yearning look in them that made me blush and look away, and then come back for more. At one point the crowds pushed me forward and straight into Peeta's chest, almost knocking the wind out of me, and when I stopped to shot a dirty look at the person that crashed into me, I realized that Peeta had stopped my fall with a tightened grip around my waist. My breath caught in my throat and I raised my eyes to meet his, darkened and heavy-lidded. And there his hand stayed and our eyes stayed until we found ourselves at the Washington stop and Prim's excited squeal interrupted us.

The streets were packed with shoppers of all ages, bumping bags and purses and buggies right into one another. The winter air smelled with fresh popcorn and evergreens, and I heard at least two different street corner bands competing with each other for pennies. The Depression and the war had prevented so many from shopping, and now it seemed like every Chicagoan had left their Thanksgiving leftovers at home and hit the streets to make up for lost time. I had never liked crowds, and I clung to Prim's arm, desperate to keep all of us together. "Come on, this way!" Peeta shouted to us, and we followed him through the crowds, completely unaware of where we were going.

We weaved our way around the shoppers and finally find ourselves at a set of revolving doors, which we gladly pushed through in order to escape the noise and the cold. I immediately started pulling my hat and gloves off, attempting to control the loose tendrils that fell from my braid. "Well," I sighed, "Peeta, I don't know what you have planned, but seriously of all days…"

I then looked up and saw Prim looking absolutely mesmerized. I turned my head to follow her gaze and then I realized where we were. Marshall Field's, the downtown department store. It was glamorous, fashionable, and so completely out of our price range that we hadn't set foot in it since our father passed. And now I could see why. The building itself was so immense, so magnificent, that, like Prim, I was left speechless.

The entire place looked like a Greek monument to the shopping gods. Christmas trees were stacked high on top of the glass countertops, each with its own theme of blues, reds, and purples. In between the rows and rows of crystal clear glass cases were pillars of white stone, wrapped with real evergreens and red ribbons. Brightly colored glass balls dangled above our heads and Christmas lights sparkled all around, marking the floors with their yellow haze. The lights above shone brightly, and as I turned my head upwards, I saw up eight, no, nine stories of floors, each decorated to the hilt as the first floor was, with rows of escalators crisscrossing the center. And the crowds; even more crowds hustling about, now adding in perfume girls and cashiers and gentlemen in suits waiting to wait on you. I had never seen anything like it, and I slowly began to realize that, although I lived here, years of poverty and work had made me a virtual tourist in my own city.

Prim looked just as about as flabbergasted as I was, and when I turned towards Peeta, he was staring at me with a confused look on this face. "Haven't you ever been here before?" I nodded my head slowly as I allowed my gaze to linger more on the gold railings of the floors above me. "Not for a long, long time."

Peeta grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the escalators. "Come on, I made reservations and we're late."

"Reservations? Peeta, I-I-I can't, we can't," I stammered. But Peeta ignored me, and behind me, Prim and Rory were absolutely over the moon. I gingerly stepped onto the escalators, and then the next one, and then the next one, until I realized that Peeta, avoiding the long lines at the elevators, was taking us up seven flights of escalators, all of which overlooked the giant atrium in the middle of the store. By the fifth one, I was starting to get dizzy. Rory and Prim were having the time of their lives, leaning over the edge and waving to shoppers below; I, on the other hand, was picturing our foreseeable doom. I unconsciously stepped closed to Peeta and grasped his elbow for extra support.

"Scared of heights? Didn't you ever climb trees as a kid?" he teased. I didn't want to look up, for fear of ruining his suit with my breakfast.

"Yeah, well, trees aren't six stories up and made of metal. And I'm not afraid, just a tad…unbalanced."

"Well, hold on to me, then. They had me jumping out of planes in the Army. After jumping out and landing in some French farmer's backyard, a few stories doesn't bother me," he chuckled.

"Oh," I allowed myself a deep breath on the sixth floor before we stepped onto the last escalator, "well, the rest of us mere mortals like to keep our feet on ground level." Peeta laughed under his breath and pulled me in a little tighter with his elbow, which I clung to for dear life.

"Here we are!" Peeta and his arm guided me off the escalator and towards a long line of patrons waiting for the maître d. The restaurant was magnificent, the walls trimmed in deep walnut wood, surrounded by round tables in white linens. A giant Christmas tree, several stories tall, stood in the middle of the room, gleaming with decorations and toys and making every child's eyes pop. As we stood in line, Prim and Rory shared a menu while I scanned the room, nervous about the cost of all this. How on earth could I pay Peeta back for this? Peeta must have felt my apprehension because he started nervously explaining himself.

"My father used to take me and my brothers here at Christmas, and I thought," he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought, maybe you'd like it. It's a little old-fashioned, I know, and the tree is just for the kids, and-"

"It's lovely," I cut him off and he looked up hopefully. "Really, it is. How on earth can you afford this, though?"

"The government." I must have looked confused, but Peeta explained. "You get paid in the Army, you know, and my parents didn't need the money, so I just kept it. Almost all of it. I've got plenty saved up now, plus I still make money at the bakery, so I have more than enough. And I want to share it." He paused and looked away nervously. "With you."

I shook my head. "You don't have to do that. But thank you. You have no idea what this means to Prim and…"

"To you?" He asked hopefully.

I didn't respond, but simply smiled at him, which seemed to be enough of an answer. And the way Peeta looked at me at that moment, I thought my heart would leap right out of my chest.

Panic rose inside of me and I couldn't deny it anymore. I wasn't merely friends with Peeta, that was for damn sure. Whatever his feelings were for me, I had to admit it. Not only did I enjoy his company, but I was really starting to care for him. A lot.

The thought of loving someone who wasn't Prim, or even Gale, made me flushed and nervous. What if Peeta left like my father did and Gale did? Would I turn into my mother? Would I completely lose myself in him?

"Katniss? Is everything ok?" Peeta must have noticed my anxiety and I stammered to tell him I was ok. But when I looked up, and saw his calm blue eyes and gentle smile, my nerves calmed. I immediately relaxed and peered over Prim's shoulders towards the menu, asking her what looked good.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The whole day seemed to be filled with snapshots of warmth and glamour, each one captured in my memory in perfect sensory bliss. The smell of pine needles in the dining room. The steam coming off of my chicken pot pie as I poked it with my fork. The way the minty chocolate drops melted in my mouth. The din of children laughing and chasing each other around the Christmas tree. The feel of a crushed velvet jacket against my fingertips. The shimmers of light that reflected off of the jeweled necklaces locked in glass cases. How much Rory looked like his older brother in the suit coat he tried on for fun. Prim's laugh echoing up the escalators. The way Peeta looked at me with those deep blue eyes, over and over again, as if I might disappear if he took his eyes off of me. It was all so much, too much, and I wanted to remember each and every moment.

At Prim's insistence, we stopped at the fifth floor Junior department to look at dance dresses. Rory had already pulled me aside and said that he had saved enough for two tickets to the dance, but made me promise not to tell Prim. And I knew that Prim could show up at that dance wearing a potato sack and still look radiant, but I wanted more for my baby sister. For years, she never complained about eating porridge for dinner or even going to bed with nothing but the nuns' breakfast in her belly. She deserved to have a glamorous night out, just once.

I quietly calculated how much extra money I might put aside in the next few weeks. If we put the dress on a store credit and I worked every Sunday at the Hub and ate scraps at the restaurant for lunch for the next month, I might be able to pull it off. I was so distracted by the numbers in my head that I didn't notice Prim pulling a gown off the rack.

"I read about these, Katniss, they're the latest thing. The new look, they said," she said, pulling the dress up to her body and sticking one leg out.

The dress was beautiful, like nothing we'd seen during the war. Light blue fabric, with little sparkles all over. The waist was tucked in the middle and the skirt flowed out, using lots and lots of tulle and fabric. It was soft, layered look, and would look fantastic on Prim's slight frame. I turned the dress around and looked for a tag. The little white tag on the side read "Dresses by Cinna," and the price, written underneath, made my heart stop.

"Prim, put the dress back."

"But-"

"Put the dress back. Now."

"What's the problem?" Peeta asked.

"Nothing," I replied. "Only that dress costs more than I make in a week." I couldn't look at Peeta, feeling my cheeks turning bright pink, and instead kept my eyes on Prim. At the news, Prim's face fell, and she calmly put the dress back on the rack. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a saleslady watching us suspiciously, and turned to walk out of the department with my arm around Prim's waist before the saleslady could embarrass us further.

Once we were by the escalators heading down, I leaned Prim's head to rest on my shoulder. "Don't worry, Little Duck, we'll find you a beautiful dress. Maybe we could go to the Fair or something, where things are a bit cheaper, ok?" She nodded at me, and we headed down towards the lobby, with Peeta and Rory trailing behind us.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxo

By the time we left the store, the street lights were starting to turn on and the shortened winter daylight had already disappeared. The streets were still heavy with the throngs of shoppers and entertainers, and we decided to walk up State Street to listen to the musicians and peer into the overly decorated Christmas windows outside the store.

When we go to a corner, the four of us stopped and watched a group playing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," trumpets blasting in our ears. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rory reach out and clutch Prim's hand, giving her a slight jump and a blush in her cheeks. It made me smile to see my little sister with the boy she had had a crush on since forever, and I quietly slipped my hand around Peeta's elbow. He smiled down at me and grabbed my fingers with his free hand. Despite the cold air around us, I felt very warm, very happy hugging Peeta's arm to my chest, listening to the music and finally, finally relaxing and enjoying life.

At the end of the song, everyone began to clap for the group, who took a few bows. To my left, I heard a "pop, pop, pop!" The crowd began to laugh, and I realized that a little boy on the other side of the crowd had pulled out a cap gun and was shooting it in the air. He kept at it, eliciting more laughs until his father chastised the boy and the family dispersed with the crowd.

I looked up at Peeta, about to ask him where we should go next, when I realized he was staring off in the distance with a strange look on his face. His arm went stiff, and his grip on my hand was starting to get rather tight.

"Peeta? Peeta, are you ok?" He breathed heavily through his nose and didn't answer. I looked to Prim and Rory for help, and they both just shrugged.

"Peeta? Hey, come on now, let's go." I nudged his arm and this seemed to jolt something in him. He quickly snapped his head towards me, only it wasn't Peeta looking at me. It was a strange, contorted figure that used to be Peeta, his eyes glazed over and his brow furrowed in anger. He squeezed my hand so tightly that I let out a yelp and Rory rushed to my side. But Peeta pushed him aside like a rag doll and grabbed onto my shoulders instead, pressing me into the bus stop sign and taking my breath away.

"Don't you see!" He yelled at me. "They're coming! They're coming back and there's nothing – no one – nothing! We have to get out! They're all dead!" He started to shake my entire body against the glass, and I could see the crowds stopping to stare at us. But Peeta was gone, he was in another world, a world that seemed frightening beyond words.

For fear of him getting arrested, I started to talk to him as calmly as I could under his massive grip. "Peeta, Peeta, it's me, it's me, Katniss. Please, Peeta, come back to me. It's Katniss. You're safe now."

His eyes softened slightly and he stared into mine, confused and frightened. His hands relaxed around my shoulders, but they still held a tight grip. Peeta started to open his mouth to say something when a man from the crowds grabbed Peeta by the arms and threw him off of me. Peeta and the stranger wrestled for a moment, but the man kept repeating, "Hey buddy, it's alright, it's alright!" and Peeta eventually tore himself away, bending over and putting his hands on his knees, heaving.

The man rested a hand on Peeta's back. "You been in the war?" he asked. Peeta nodded, avoiding the man's questioning face. "Yeah, me too. Not this one, the Great War. Stuff gets to ya. You'll be ok, buddy, just go get a drink and take your girl home, alright?"

"Are you ok, miss?" the man turned to me. I nodded quickly and stared at my mittens. He patted Peeta on the back. "You better get to the VA hospital when you can, son, and see a head doctor." Peeta, still in a daze, nodded as well, and the man, seeming to think this was enough, left us.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxo

The whole train ride home, Peeta seemed in a daze, his knee pouncing furiously and his head in his hands. I didn't know what to say or do. Prim and Rory sat across from us, staring at me, waiting for me to make a move. But what? Hours earlier, I had finally admitted to myself that I cared about Peeta, that I wanted to let him into my life. And I still had those feelings, but now…now I knew that Peeta had been holding back a lot of things. The Peeta that grabbed me and shook me wasn't the Peeta I knew, but one that was living in fear and pain. I wanted to help him, but I didn't know how. I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. I felt confused and stuck in the middle.

The walk back to our house was quiet. Once we got closer, Prim informed me that Rory had invited her over for dinner, and asked if we wanted to join them. I shook my head and told her next time. I could tell that Peeta was embarrassed about what happened earlier and I didn't think he was in the mood for meeting new people.

After Prim and Rory thanked Peeta graciously and left for the Hawthornes, I started walking towards the front porch, expecting Peeta to follow me. I turned the key in the door and entered, and then turning, realized that Peeta was still on the sidewalk.

"I think I should go," he said, hands deep in his pockets. "I'm, I'm really sorry about what happened. On the street." He took a deep breath. "I'll see ya around." And he turned to leave.

"Peeta, wait! Stop! Where are you going?" I climbed down the steps and ran after him.

"Home, Katniss. You shouldn't be around me. Hell, I shouldn't be around anyone. Not the way I am."

My heart ached for Peeta at that moment. His face was so serious and sad, and I wanted nothing more than to take away whatever was causing him pain. And I certainly didn't want him to leave.

"Peeta, please come inside. We can talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" He started to raise his voice. "I'm a wreck. And I hurt you! I'm not even a real man anymore."

I let him take a few deep breaths before I spoke again. I placed my hand on his gently. "You didn't hurt me. Come inside, Peeta. I'll make some tea. You don't have to talk about it, but please don't leave. Not like this."

"You-you want me to stay? Still?"

"Of course. Now get inside, it's freezing out here." I spun on my heels and this time I made sure that I heard Peeta's heavy footfalls on the sidewalk behind me.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxo

I set a mug of hot peppermint tea in front of Peeta and he muttered a small thanks as he lifted it to his lips. I sat down next to him and fingered the rim of my own cup, waiting for him to speak. The kitchen was absolutely silent, save the ticking of a clock above our heads.

"I didn't move out, you know," Peeta finally said, talking into his mug. "I mean, I moved out, but not because I wanted to. I had to."

"Why?" I asked.

He sighed. "My mother. I have, um, bad nightmares. I was waking up the whole house. And sometimes, when the bakery would be really busy or if someone slammed a cabinet, I would get these…_moments_. Where I thought I was back there, in the middle of the war, and I wouldn't know where I was and I wouldn't know what I was saying or doing. That's…that's what happened today. With you."

I didn't say anything and let Peeta keep talking. "My mother, see, she and I didn't get along with each other before I left. Hell, she doesn't get along with anyone, really," he said with a slight laugh. "But, when I came home, after just a few days of hearing the nightmares and hearing about the episodes at work, she told me to get out. Said she doesn't need a nutcase in the family. That I would just embarrass them." At this last comment he hung his head, although he believed her. "My father let me keep my job, but he couldn't convince her about letting me stay at the house. Not that I wanted to be there, but now, it's like I don't have a family. My middle brother died in Guadalcanal, and my older brother is married and doing his own thing on the North side. I just have my father, and he's never one to stand up to my mother's rage."

Peeta went quiet, and I squeezed his hand, forcing him to look up. "You're not a nutcase, Peeta. A lot guys come back…different after the war."

"But I hurt you! I embarrassed you, I can't even go out in public. You shouldn't be near me."

"Enough. First of all, you didn't hurt me. I'm a tough girl and you didn't hurt me. Even in the midst of it, I never was afraid of you. I was afraid _for _you, though."

Peeta looked up at my face, hope filling his eyes. "So…you're not, you're not afraid of me?"

"Of course not! Peeta, you heard gun shots. No wonder you thought you were back in the war. We can get through this, we just have to figure out what sets you off and avoid it. Or maybe figure out what calms you down."

"We?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll help you," I said with a smile. And for the first time since the "episode," Peeta smiled back.

Peeta took a deep breath and he returned to looking at his mug, cupped within both of his large, calloused hands. "I know you want to be friends, but you must know I want more than that. You give me such a sense of importance. Nobody needs me. I've been going back and forth in my mind, why did I make it and they didn't? You know, the other soldiers. Why am I here and they're in a grave in France? I don't understand it, and I don't know if I ever will. But you, seeing you and being with you, makes me feel like maybe there was a reason. If you were my sweetheart, then maybe I'd feel important again."

My heart was pounding in my ears. I knew what he was asking and for the first time since I met him, I wanted it too. And I wanted to tell him so badly, but couldn't form the words in my mouth.

Before he could say anything else, and before I could lose my nerve, I quickly leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. I could feel him jolt backwards slightly with shock, but I kept my eyes closed and didn't move my mouth at all, just holding my mouth to his until I broke away and turned my eyes towards his.

We both looked at each other in shock, and I searched his face for a good reaction. Did I really just kiss Peeta? Did I just give him my first kiss? I started to open my mouth to say something more, but just as I did, Peeta swiftly grabbed my face in his hands and brought his lips back to mine.

This time, he seemed ready and I was the one in shock. His chapped lips were so warm and so gentle against mine that I had to kiss him back, both of us moving our mouths softly, then a little faster, then sloppily as if we couldn't get enough. His hands moved from my face to the back of my neck, nestling in my hair, and I rested mine on his chest, where I felt his heart pounding just as fast as mine was. Eventually, he pulled back, his face red and his breath short, and I licked my swollen lips.

"So you will?" he asked nervously, putting his forehead on mine.

"Will I what?"

"Be my sweetheart?"

I smiled against his lips. "Aren't I already?" And I disappeared into those lips once more.

_Can you tell that this former Chicagoan misses being there at Christmastime? The city is so beautiful this time of year and I can't help but feel nostalgic. I also highly recommend the chicken pot pie at the Walnut Room (at the Marshall Field's/now Macy's building) – it's delicious!_

_Happy Holidays everyone!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Thank you again for all of the kind reviews. I'm glad everyone enjoyed the trip to Marshall Field's. One little thing: a very nice reviewer pointed out to me that in Chapter 1 Gale's father abandoned his family and in a later chapter he died with Mr. Everdeen at the work accident. Oops! Just wanted to apologize for that error, if anyone else was wondering about it. I wrote the first chapter originally as a one-shot and then decided to continue it later, so I must have forgotten what I wrote. Sorry! Feel free to pick whichever version you prefer. _

_This is a shorter chapter, but there's more to come - chapter 7 is half-written! Be sure to stop by my tumblr to see pictures and inspiration for this chapter and previous ones (malibu-stacy-writing)._

_This one's for you, marquise-des-anges!_

I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face, thinking of the sweet kisses and smiles in my kitchen the night before. Peeta never took it any farther than gently cupping my face or stroking my braid, but I could tell he was holding back by the look in his eyes. We both were, in fact, and I had never felt the kind of flutters in the depths of my stomach before. Just thinking of his lips on mine made the flutters start up again and turned my cheeks crimson.

I heard a knock at the door, which bolted me out of my daydreams, and I forced myself to leave the comfort of my bed. As I wrapped my robe around my waist, I heard Prim scream and I ran out of my room, mustering up my courage to attack whoever was at the door and hurting my sister.

But when I came out, I saw Prim, not being held hostage by an escaped lunatic, but instead holding the upper half of the dress we had seen at Marshall Field's, the lower part spilling out of a dark green box. Her face lit up brightly as she hugged the fabric to her chest. I stared at her, stunned, until she looked up and smiled widely.

"It was Peeta! He bought it behind my back and here it is!" She handed me a small envelope, which I tore open. Written in neat, masculine script, it read: "Any girl from the beautiful Everdeen family deserves a night on the town. Enjoy the dance. Peeta. PS There's something for your sister in here as well."

As soon as I read that last line, I saw Prim reach underneath the dress and pull out a small white jewelry box, wrapped in a red ribbon. I stood very still, staring at the box and my chest started to restrict. Prim placed the box in my hand and started to laugh.

"Relax, Katniss, I don't think he's going to propose via the delivery man. Open it."

My hands were still shaking as I untied the ribbon and opened the box. Dangling from white velvet was a gold locket in a shape of a heart, with two delicate flowers engraved on the front. I remember admiring the necklace through the glass when we had walked through the jewelry department together, but I was so subtle about it that I didn't think anyone had noticed. Years of depriving myself even the smallest of luxuries had made me weary of window shopping. And now, here it was, shiny and golden in the palm of my hand.

Prim placed her chin on my shoulder and whispered quietly, "He's a really nice guy, Katniss. Be good to him."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I finally snapped out of my amazement.

"It means…" Prim took a deep breath, "I can see it in your eyes. You're petrified."

"I'm not petrified, I just don't think he should be spending money on us like this. It's, it's just not right." After everything that happened yesterday – the scene on the street, the kisses, the whispers – I had let him in and it terrified me. Now he could hurt me. Now he had power over me.

"Katniss, he _wants_ us to have these things. He wants to make you happy."

"Well, too bad, because it's all going back." I reached for the dress, but Prim refused to let it go.

"Katniss, no! Please, let me keep the dress."

"It's not yours to keep, Prim!"

Prim quickly reached to the side of the dress and ripped the tag off. "It is now." She smiled widely, knowing that she won. "I'm going to call Rory, this is so exciting!" Still clutching the dress, she raced past me towards the kitchen phone and once again locked herself in the pantry.

I sighed and looked down at the gold locket, so pretty and fragile in its box. I glanced back at the closed pantry door and went into my room before Prim could see me. Once safe inside, I let my robe drop to the floor and I carefully unveiled the chain from the box. I had a hard time unlocking the clasp and then closing it behind my neck. But once on, I looked up into the mirror and ran my finger over the heart. It was beautiful and shone against my skin. No one had ever given me something so beautiful and feminine before. I had never wanted something like this before. And as I said those words to myself inside my head, I immediately asked myself if I meant the necklace or Peeta.

And, just as Prim had predicted, I was petrified.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

I counted the ninth customer leaving the bakery. I stood close the building next door, my breath coming out in short white huffs while I contemplated what I was doing here. The locket lay in its jewelry box inside my coat pocket, my original intent being to stomp inside the bakery, demand that Peeta take the locket back, and then avoid him for the rest of my life. But now that I was here, my courage disappeared and I had been clinging to the side of McCormack's Grocery for the past 15 minutes.

Finally, I took a deep breath and forced myself to walk past the window sill full of cakes and into the bakery. As soon as I passed through the doors, the warmth of the ovens and the smell of fresh dough hit me. The bakery was small, with an L shaped counter taking up most of the space. Every inch of space was filled with cookies, pastries, breads, cakes, and pies, all along the walls behind the counter and behind the glass displays. My mouth watered at the sight and smells, and I wondered what it would be like to walk in here every day as some did, easily exchange some paper for a loaf of bread, and go home to devour it, knowing there would be more tomorrow. As always, the bakery's business was steady, filled with middle aged women wearing babushkas and rolled up nylons, clutching their numbered ticket in one hand and eyeballing the other women who just might cut in line. Behind the counter was Peeta's father, wearing a white apron and shouting out orders to Peeta in the corner, who scribbled numbers onto white paper bags with a black crayon from behind his ear.

I kept my distance in the back of the shop, unsure of where to look or stand, when I suddenly looked up and caught Peeta's eye. His hair was disheveled and he had flour smeared across his forehead, but he looked as handsome as ever and his smile made my breath catch in my throat. He met me by the end of the counter, and I glanced at his father, who seemed to be keeping one eye on us as he filled orders.

Peeta greeted me with a kiss on my cheek. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, just…we got your package." The look in his eye instantly made me regret my original plan, but I reached into my pocket anyways pulled out the box. "Peeta, I…"

"Do you like it? I thought it would look nice on you."

"I can't accept this."

"Of course you can! All girls deserve something shiny and new, especially my girl." He blew off my refusal like it was nothing, and seemed to think nothing of saying phrases like "my girl" in front of every gossipy housewife in the place. I, on the other, was sweating under my overcoat and stared at the tops of my shoes.

Peeta must have noticed my nerves and he pulled me further towards the backroom, away from the customers, and tipped my chin upwards with his finger. "You do like it, don't you?"

"Of course I do, I just…don't know what to say. I mean, thank you, for the dress and everything, but…" I shrugged my shoulders again, trying to come up with a way to tell Peeta that no one, not even my own relatives, had ever given my family gifts. We had been on our own for so long that such kindness for the sake of itself felt awkward.

Peeta slowly unwrapped my fingers, still clutching the jewelry box, and took the locket out. He unclasped it deftly and stepped behind me, pulling my braid to the side and slipping the necklace around my neck. The feeling of his breath moving the hairs on the back of my neck made me break out into warm goosebumps. I turned around to face him and we stood mere inches from one another.

"There, see? It fits." We both smiled and I chuckled nervously. He smoothed a few loose hairs behind my ear and for a moment I was lost in the warmth of him, the smell of pastries, and the cool locket hanging on my chest. I waited for him to kiss me, his eyes closing in on my lips with neither one of us making a move. But the moment passed as his father called out for Peeta to help him.

"I have to go, we're so busy with Christmas coming and all. But wait, I want to give you something to take home."

"No, Peeta, you've done enough-" I protested, but he waved me off and I went back into the shop.

The bakery wasn't quite as crowded as it was when I first came in, and I wondered if Peeta's father had called him out just to check on us. I waited nervously behind the glass counter, avoiding Mr. Mellark's curious gaze and hoping he would politely ignore me back. He didn't.

"Katniss, right?" he asked, stuffing a large houska into a paper bag. I nodded and nervously glanced towards the backroom for Peeta.

Mr. Mellark thanked the customer and walked over by me. "Hi, I'm Marek, Peeta's father. Nice to finally meet you, I've heard about you." Peeta's father had a slight foreign accent, heavy on the t's and d's, but otherwise he looked like Peeta if you added about 30 years. The same blond hair, blue eyes, thick frame and strong jaw, and the same glint in the eyes that made you feel right at home.

"Oh?" I said uncomfortably.

"Yes," he chuckled. "Peeta is quite taken by you." He walked over by me and leaned over the counter, his face turning solemn for a moment. "You're good for him, I think. Peeta's…not quite himself since he came back. But you, I think you can help him."

My cheeks burned at his words and I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, Peeta burst through the back doors and Marek went back to wiping the counter and smiling as if nothing happened.

"Dad, I hope you're being nice to Ms. Everdeen here," Peeta joked. "She's our official taste tester."

Marek smiled and shook his head. "No, no, I'm a perfect gentleman. But I am wondering why this nice young lady hasn't been over for Sunday dinner yet."

Peeta stiffened slightly at this comment, but simply smiled and told his dad, "We'll see," before handing me a heavy white bag. He explained that it was day old bread and pastries, but the warmth emanating from the bag told me that these were fresh from the oven.

"Peeta, you have to stop feeding me. I have a job, you know. Two of them, actually."

"What can I say, I'm Bohemian, it's how I show love." At his last word, we locked eyes at the same time, and I could hear my heart pounding. Love! He said love! Peeta cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. From the corner of my eye, I saw Marek Mellark chuckle and shake his head.

"So, when can I see you again?" he asked.

"Umm, well, I have to work all week, pretty late, and I promised a couple of nights to Darius. So, next Saturday, I guess?"

Peeta grinned widely. "And what am I supposed to do all this week without you?"

"Bake!" Marek shouted from the other end of the store and we both laughed.

"I think you have your answer right there," I teased.

"Well, I'll be thinking about you until then." Peeta clasped my free hand lightly and planted a warm kiss on my cheek. My eyes remained closed as he pulled away and he left me wanting more, so much more. He whispered good-bye right near my nose and I opened my eyes to stare directly into his, and my body burst into flames.

"Bye," I whispered back and turned away from the warmth of the bakery and its owners. So much for returning his gifts.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

I refused to unclasp the locket after Peeta placed it around my neck, not even to add pictures to it.

Despite my best efforts, all week long my thoughts were about Peeta. He had charmed his way in somehow, and I was smitten. Sometimes I thought about his sweet way with words and I melted; other times, I fixated on a potential Sunday night dinner with his parents, and it sent me into a panic. I kept going back and forth between happy daydreams and cold sweats, and I didn't know what to think.

The worst thoughts, however, were also the most alluring. Peeta's kisses had left me hungry for more, and I had some theory, mostly from the whispers in the girls' bathroom at work and subtle innuendos from Annie, on what that "more" was. I had never thought about boys like that before, but I know found myself lingering on Peeta's lips, wondering how it would feel to have those lips kiss me elsewhere. These thoughts were wrong, so wrong – we had been told over and over again how _wrong_ dirty thoughts were – but I couldn't help myself. They kept creeping up on me and by the end of each day the area between my legs was so wet and tingly that I had to change my undergarments. It made me feel excited and mortified at the same time.

It was during the middle of one these thoughts that a man interrupted me at work. "Ahem," I heard, and I snapped out of it, realizing that I had not only filled his coffee cup, but also most of the counter and the man's lap.

"Oh, oh, sorry!" I exclaimed. "I didn't realize-"

"Yes, well, your head was in the clouds, wasn't it, sweetheart?" the man snarled under his breath at me while wiping the front of his pants.

After hearing the sweetheart, I immediately recognized the man as the glutton who stole my donuts at the bus stop. The man smirked at me. "Oh, so you recognize me finally, huh sweetheart? How's lover boy?"

I scowled at him and went back to wiping the coffee puddles off the counter. Maybe ignoring him would make him disappear completely. He reached into his side pocket and pulled out a silver flask, dumping the contents into his coffee cup.

I glared at him. "Really? It's not even noon yet."

"You know, you could really make a killing here if you Irished up your coffee for money rather than making me bring my own."

Sae slid up behind me. "Haymitch, you know the rules. You bring your own and I look the other way. Now if you keep harassing my employees, I'll have to report you to Mr. Snow's inspectors."

Haymitch sniffed under his breath. "Go ahead, what the fuck do I care?" Sae rolled her eyes at me and went back into the office, leaving me alone with a half-drunk before the lunch crowd arrived.

Unfortunately, he wanted to talk. "So listen, sweetheart, how many workers come in here every day?"

"A lot. Why?"

"Just curious. Perhaps you and I could help each other out."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I doubt that." This Haymitch, whoever he was, was starting to get under my skin.

"Oh, so I guess you like working down here? That you didn't aspire to move up in the world and make more money? And you weren't demoted by Crane?"

This got my attention. "So what do you want?"

Haymitch's face turned serious. "I work for the union." He pulled the inside of his lapel open to reveal his circular union pin. "Not many of us left, but there's enough. We need to organize. We need every worker on our side in order to make management hear our side. Things have gotten worse, in case you haven't noticed."

Once, every worker had been involved in the union. We all ate, drank, and slept union fidelity, but Snow had been slowly chipping away union powers. Rumors spread of corruption and mismanagement, and while the union was technically still functioning, it had lost most of its credibility and membership. My father had once been very proud to be a member of the union, but after his death I hadn't given membership much thought, outside of the fact that union dues would have taken away from my valuable paycheck.

"So, what do you want from me?"

Haymitch sipped at his mostly whiskey cup of coffee. "I like you. You have spunk, and you're stubborn. I like stubborn." He set the cup down, missing the saucer and spilling more on the counter. "I want you to be my eyes and ears. See what people are talking about here. Maybe mention something about union meetings when the time comes. I want to know what the workers want."

I tilted my head to one side. "And what's in it for me?"

"You want a better job. If you help us out, it's won't be forgotten in the future. You'll be working to make this place better for all of us, not just yourself. Think about it: decent wages, decent hours, a better community. You deserve it. We all deserve it." At this last comment, he drove his eyes into mine, and I felt his conviction. It was what we all wanted, really. A better life. The chance to work and feel productive, not like a slave to Snow's stock prices. Maybe this Haymitch guy wasn't merely a drunk after all; maybe he was on to something.

"Alright, I'll do it."

"I knew you would. Now, sweetheart, tell me about Lover Boy. Has he put his buns in your oven yet?"

And just like that, I went back to hating Haymitch once again.

_Just for the record, I'm taking some liberties with labor history here, so don't look for authenticity with 1940's union strikes or anything. But I thought unions vs. management would make for a nice "rebellion." _


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_As always, thank you for all of the kind reviews. I have the best readers! I tried to respond to everyone who reviewed, but if I haven't (and if I don't get a chance to this time), please know that I read each and every one, and really appreciate everything you guys say. And as always, visit me on tumblr at malibu-stacy-writing._

_Let's start earning that M rating, shall we? We'll start out slow…_

After my talk with Haymitch, in which I ignored his whiskey breath and constant slurring, I spent the rest of the work day alternating between thoughts of Peeta, thoughts of my father's pro-union rants in the kitchen, and thoughts of escaping from work as early as possible. Prim's dance was that night, and I wanted to be there. Not that I could have been much of a help in the getting ready department, but she had been bursting at the seams with excitement that morning and I wanted to be home just to see the look of joy on her face.

It was tricky to get home at a decent hour. Snow had cut back dramatically at all levels, and even the restaurant was severally understaffed. I found myself more than once having to help in the back just to get the food cooked on time, since we were typically down to one cook plus Rue, our jack-of-all-trades. I could see that the fatigue was taking a toll on all of us, but I refused to give in the yawns and dark circles around me. Not for Prim's big night.

Sae turned the closed sign over on the front door and locked it tight. She walked back towards the counter with a heavy sigh, collecting the piles of receipts from deep within her pockets. I gave her a sideways smile as I started collecting the dishes from the back counter.

"I heard you talking to Haymitch," she said, staring me down with her steely eyes. I didn't want to look up at her, so I kept my hands busy.

"Yes, I talked to him," I said slowly.

Sae was silent for a second, and then gently patted my shoulder. "Just be careful, deary. I don't want you to get involved with anything too….crazy. I remember him from the early days, when the union just started. He was…intense. And, don't forgot that Snow has eyes everywhere."

I finally dragged my eyes up to meet hers. Her usually sarcastic smirk was replaced with solemnity, and I gulped. Was Sae trying to warn me about something that I didn't know about?

"I will," I promised her, but it was a bit late. I knew that whatever Haymitch and his union were up to, I was already guilty by association, at least by Snow's standards.

"So, Sae, is there any chance-"

"Yes, you can go home early."

"How did you know?"

Sae smiled. "Honey, you have get-me-out-here written all over your face all day. You've been working hard lately. Go on, get out of here, before I change my mind," she told me with a nod towards the front door.

I had my apron off in two seconds. "Thanks Sae!" I yelled behind me as I flew out the door. I could hear her chuckling behind me as I sped away.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

When I walked in the house, I immediately yelled "I'm here!" but stopped once I found Prim in our mother's bedroom, with Madge behind her, a mouth full of pins. Prim was already dressed in the beautiful Marshall Field's gown, and Madge was slowly taking out her pincurls one by one. Prim looked radiant. Her blond hair fell onto her shoulders in perfect ringlets and the dress shone against her pale skin. Madge gave me a slight smile, and I suddenly became nervous around the one girlfriend I had ever had, the one I hadn't spoken to in years.

"I saw Madge at the library today, and she offered to help me get ready, isn't that wonderful?" Prim beamed.

"Yes, that's very nice of her," I said softly.

Madge cleared her throat. "It's good to see you, Katniss. You look well."

I glanced down at my work uniform, covered in grease stains and coffee drops, and knew that Madge was simply being her polite self. In comparison, Madge was wearing a tight tweed suit, with matching brown heels and her hair in a perfect coil. As always, her appearance was groomed and flawless, whereas I looked like something the cat dragged in.

"Thank you, so you do. How's-how's the library?" I sputtered. Small talk was never my strong suit.

"Oh, you know, keeps me busy."

"Madge has a new beau, you know. His name is Thom and he teaches shop to the boys." Prim blotted a huge pink puff into some powder and dabbed it along her chest. Apparently my warning to not borrow things from Madge had gone unheeded.

"Prim!" Madge turned about five shades of red.

"Oh, we all know about it, Ms. Undersee. The way he looks at you. It's like Clark Gable staring at Vivien Leigh from the bottom of the staircase."

I rolled my eyes. "Prim, don't gossip."

"It's alright, Katniss, I just, don't want it getting around too much, that's all." Madge looked down at her heels and nicked the tops of them against the floor. "You see, he hasn't met my father yet, and you know how he can be. Always setting me up with these lawyers and doctors and Captains of Industry." Madge's father, the alderman, was certainly always trying to get publicity, throwing lavish parties for the Democratic party and hob-knobing with local celebrities. I could imagine that he already had Madge's future already planned out, including an equally impressive husband.

Madge snuck a look towards me. "I heard about your new guy, by the way, Katniss. Prim told me all about how he bought this dress for her."

I could see Prim nervously biting her lip. I told her not to say a word about Peeta and the dress to anyone, and here she was telling the richest person in the neighborhood that someone was providing us with luxuries. I could feel the anger boiling up inside of me, and I had to consciously suppress it with the refrain of, "not on Prim's night, not on Prim's night."

"Yes, well," I cleared my throat, "we will pay him back, of course. I mean, it's just a loan. Not a gift or anything. We wouldn't accept that. It's a loan." I was rambling like an idiot, and Madge just smiled at me.

"Well, he sounds like a swell guy. Cute, too. I've seen him at the bakery. You're a lucky girl, Katniss."

Before I could reply or deny anything, the doorbell rang and Mrs. Hawthorne and Rory let themselves in. I left Madge and Prim to their primping and went out to greet them. Mrs. Hawthorne, with her thick Chicago Irish accent and outgoing personality, burst onto the scene and immediately began hugging and pinching cheeks.

"Oh, Katniss, isn't this just like we imagined?" She grabbed into her large warm arms and squeezed. "My husband and your father, God rest their souls, are watching over us tonight, along with my Gale, just smilin' and wishin' they were here." She made the sign of the cross and took a step back, gripping my shoulders. "My goodness, aren't you just skin and bones, is your mother feeding you? Come over for some soup later. Rory, fix your tie, boy. Lord, Katniss, I tell you, I prayed for nothin' but girls and I got my precious little Posy at the very end, but these boys, Lord have mercy, will be the death of me. Now, where is that darling sister of yours?" Mrs. Hawthorne was probably the only person I knew that could mention my father and not send me into a downward spiral. Her positivity and practicality towards life and people made her an always welcome presence in my life.

Prim stepped out of the bedroom with her hands clasped in front of her. Rory inhaled deeply and turned pale.

Mrs. Hawthorne swept Prim's hands into her own. "God in Heaven, child, you look like an angel! Isn't see a sight? Rory, go stand next to Prim, I want pictures!" Mrs. Hawthonre brought out her little brownie camera and starting fiddling with the lens while Prim and Rory posed in front of my mother's china cabinet, where we always took picturing, hoping to capture some of my mother's merchant day niceties in the background.

I stayed in the back, my cheeks hurting from smiling, as Prim and Rory tentatively held hands and posed, as Rory wiped his sweaty palms against his pants when she let go, as Mrs. Hawthorne fussed and exclaimed and praised heaven, as Madge tucked wisps of Prim's hair behind her ears for yet another picture. Even as I was smiling, I could feel the lump in my throat start to form. Prim was all grown up and I hoped, as Mrs. Hawthorne said, that my father was watching her from up high.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo 

Once everyone had left for either the dance or their own Friday nights, I found myself alone in a too quiet house. I flipped through the stations on our old radio, the one that Gale had taken part and repaired for us several times, and wound on listening to the big bands blaring live from the Aragon. I curled up in our worn armchair and leaned my head against the arm. It seemed like ages ago that I was there, dancing with my head on Peeta's shoulder. In the past few weeks, it felt like my comfortable little cocoon of work and family had been thrown upside down, and now that Prim was taken care of and off to enjoy her night, all of my thoughts lingered on one particular guy.

Why hadn't I made plans with Peeta for the night? I found myself missing him terribly. I wondered what he was doing tonight, and if he missed me as well. I smiled to myself, thinking that he probably would say that he missed me too, but in some cheesy, romance movie way like he always did.

Those thoughts, those deliciously dirty thoughts starting creeping into my mind and I sighed into the chair, letting myself get swept away. I imagined every love scene from the movies that Prim had dragged me too, and while I rolled my eyes at the time, I now allowed Peeta to take the place of every leading man and I every leading lady. It was Peeta who took me into his arms and flung me into his chest, and it was Peeta that curled me into his arms and kissed me like there was no tomorrow.

My insides tingled again and I squeezed my thighs together, wanting to capture the sensation that was creeping between my legs. It felt good, so I did it again and again, when a sudden urge to touch myself down there crept into my head. Just to see what it would be like, I told myself. To see what's going on down there.

I opened my eyes and glanced around the living room. No one was there, the only noise being a toothpaste commercial from the radio in the corner. I let out a small breath and pulled my skirt up, pretending that nothing was happening to the non-people in the room, whose eyes I felt upon me. I pushed the thin material of my underwear aside and gently, tentatively, touched myself. It was wet and warm, and made my insides feel the same. I touched again, stroked upward, and my thighs twitched open wider.

It made me feel both satisfying and desperate at the same time. I had never actually _touched_ down there, save for bathing with a washcloth. I let myself explore more, touching lighter, harder, moving in circles, sticking one tentative finger inside. I wanted more, more, more. I felt something building up deep inside of my stomach, filling up my whole body with shivers. I pretended it was Peeta touching me instead, and I imagined him kissing my lips and my neck and moving further down towards my breasts with his warm mouth, ripping open my blouse and sucking on my skin. I heard my own mouth let out a gasp as I went faster and faster, and let my fingers slide up and down and around and inside and all over and then suddenly I burst. The muscles in my hips and thighs jut upward with a spark and I moaned as I let each wave pulsate again and again.

And then – it stopped. My breath was sharp and I peaked open one eye. The room was still and nothing had changed, except for me and the awkward position I now found myself in, thighs spread open across the armchair and my skirt pushed up high around my hips. I straightened my skirt and sat up, giggling a bit to myself.

I had never experienced anything like that before. Was that what the fast girls whispered about in the girls bathroom? Was this why being with a boy was fun? Annie had told me about being with Finnick, but I was always slightly confused about what she meant by "finishing." I wondered if other girls did what I had just done, and if boys had a way to do the same thing and why no one had ever mentioned it to me before.

And then it hit me. Someone _had _mentioned it before. Sister Gloriette, in eighth grade. When we had separated the boys from the girls. When she had passed out menstrual belts and napkins, and when she warned us not to use tampons to preserve our virginity. To leave room for the Holy Spirit when we dance. To not park in cars with boys. To put a handkerchief between our knees on dates so that our legs stay together. Of course, I had no idea why keeping our legs together would prevent babies from coming. The mechanics of sex – hell, the word sex – was never mentioned, and I was forced to pick up everything else on the side from eavesdropping and Annie's adventures with Finnick in the bedroom. Of course, those conversations made me want to stick cotton in my ears, but nevertheless, I understood _what _sex was only about 6 months ago.

But most of all, I remembered Sister Gloriette's warning. About touching ourselves.

"Remember, girls, your body is a shrine. Do not desecrate your shrine with personal fondling and touching. A clean body is a clean soul. Remember, God is always watching."

I looked around the living room once again as those last words sank in. What had I just done?

I spent the rest of the night trying to distract myself (and perhaps God) from what had happened. I kept alternating between thoughts. "What does Sister Gloriette know? How is she the authority of God all of a sudden?" followed by, "Oh God, what I have done? Am I doomed for eternal damnation now?" followed by, "To hell with eternal damnation, I want him!" to "Boys are nothing but trouble. Maybe being celibate isn't such a bad idea." I stewed about it all night long, finding it impossible to focus on my book or anything else. And the persistent burning between my thighs, begging for more relief, didn't help much.

When Prim arrived just on time for her curfew, fresh faced and rambling about every detail, I listened for her sake while sipping on hot tea. She told me about the lights, the decorations, the punch bowl, the band, the other girls' dresses, dancing with Rory. And eventually, as we lay in our matching twin beds, she literally talked herself to sleep.

I, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, trying to decide between giving in to temptation or saving my soul. And then, around 2 am, I had an epiphany. Confession! Of course! The Catholic's ticket out of anything. I would confess my sin to the priest tomorrow morning, and then I would be renewed in my efforts to block all sexy thoughts of blue eyes and broad chests.

I finally found my sleep.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The next morning, I snuck out of the house early, Prim still snoring soundly in her bed from her late night out, my mother flung on the couch exhausted from her late night shift. Confession took place early in the morning on Saturdays, making me wonder if it was the Church's effort to cause the truly sinful to receive extra punishment. I left my family a note, telling them that I was going to the Hob to work, not wanting to share my real reason.

It had just started to snow, so I wore my thick wool skirt and thickest wool knee socks, and hoped that my leather shoes would hold up during the walk. The wind was stronger, and I had to duck my head down and hold my hat against the wind. My worn overcoat was not keeping me very warm, and I almost ran down the streets of the Seam towards the church as quick as my legs could take me.

Once inside, I released my braid from my hat and tried to shake off as much of the heavy snow as I could, stomping my feet on the foyer rugs. Inside, the church was dark and musty, smelling of sweet incense and matches. The only light came from the candles on the altar and the rows of red votives in front of the Marian shrine. A few older men and women were scattered about, kneeling deep in prayer at the pews. I took a few deep breaths but stayed glued to the back. I hadn't gone to confession since the nuns forced us to in school, and even then I told the priest the very least I could without faking it. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous, and I was about to turn around and head home when I saw Father Fagan enter one of the confessional booths. Ah, Father Fagan, who was so old and deaf that parishioners clambered over each other to have him hear (or rather, not hear) their confessions. This will easy, I thought. I'll whisper it very quietly, say a few Hail Marys, and be done with the whole thing.

I started moving towards the confession booths towards Father Fagan when I heard heels clapping against the stone floor and giggling. I turned around and saw two girls that I knew from school, Glimmer and Clove. Actually, I knew Glimmer from Capital Electric as well, where she used to work and where we hated one another. She was gossipy and lazy, just as she had been in school, and she hated that when I became shift manager, I gained the ability to boss her around. The thoughts of someone from the Seam – someone whom she had tormented all throughout grammar school for being poor – had moved above her. And with her, of course, was Clove, her sidekick even after school, both of them popular and wealthy and mean.

The last thing I wanted was to talk to those two, so before they could see me, I quickly ran into the first booth I saw. So much for Father Fagan's deaf ears, but I still preferred confessing to the anonymous priest than being approached by those two.

I sat down with a huff and saw that the sliding door between me and the priest was already open. I could faintly make out a figure sitting on the other side, but I dared not look too close. I definitely didn't want to know who my confessor was. Not with what I had to say.

I blessed myself and started. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It-it has been a very, very long time since my last confession."

Silence. Perhaps I had gotten Father Fagan?

Deep breath. "I-I came to confess, because…well, you see Father, there's this boy. In my life. And I like him. A lot. He's…different. He's kind and gentle and he cares about people. Not that he's perfect or anything, but he's really…good. He's a good person.

"Anyways, I've been seeing him and we've kissed, but lately, I want more. I want to do more. With him."

More silence. Damn it, was this priest going to make me spell it out for him?

"I sometimes think about him in a sinful manner, and I have once…umm….touched myself while thinking about him. But it was just the one time, and I came here first thing this morning to confess the sin."

I sighed. "Father, I don't know what to think about this boy. My own father is gone, and I don't have anyone to guide me. I have a lot of feelings for this boy. I may even love him. Or at least I'm starting to. I just don't know how handle all of this. It's so new and sudden and my thoughts keep betraying me."

I could hear myself telling him all of my most inner thoughts, and I tried to tell myself to stop, but it just kept coming. It actually felt good, for once, to let it all out. "Father, if I love him and if he tells me he loves me too, then is this really a sin? Is it wrong to want to be with someone…sexually? Why would God put all these thoughts and desires in me if it was so wrong?"

I waited for the answer. But all I could hear was breathing on the other side. Had Fagan fallen asleep again?

"Father?" I asked. "Are you there?"

He cleared his throat, and it sounded young, a little too young for a priest. Maybe a seminarian? Oh no, please don't tell me that I confessed all that to someone I went to school with?

Curiously, I leaned in closer to the screen and dared to peak in. The other pair of eyes met mine. And as soon as they did, I gasped, closing my hand tight over my mouth. And I ran out of the booth as fast as I could.

Because the eyes I saw in the booth were bright blue. Under blond hair. I had confessed everything to Peeta.

_Sorry for the cliff hanger! Don't hate me!_

_I had a Sister Gloriette in grade school. Man, that nun was scary. She taught first grade. Who puts the scary nun in the first grade? Seriously._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Sorry for the cliff hanger and for taking longer than I wanted to update. Thank you for being patient – you guys are the best!_

_Haven't said this in a while, but I don't own the Hunger Games or any of the lyrics mentioned here._

I bolted out of the church as fast as I could, literally running into Clove's shoulder and causing her and Glimmer to gasp behind my back. "Hey! Watch it!" they said to my back. But I didn't care. I had to escape. To another city perhaps? Maybe Canada? Anywhere but here, anywhere but where Peeta had just heard my deepest, darkest secret. Which was all about him.

The snow was still coming down heavy outside, and I tried to run as fast as I could, cutting across the courtyard in the back of the church, running through the snow drifts. The snow came hit my legs and went into my shoes, and from behind me, I heard Peeta yelling my name, but I kept going and I refused to look behind me. If I just got away from him quickly, I thought, I could get home, hide for several weeks, and then make sure that I never see his face again.

"Katniss, wait, please!" his voice was closer but I just kept kicking my legs up through the snow. But, just as I feared, he eventually got up with me and grabbed me by the elbow.

"Katniss!"

"What! What the hell do you want?" I yelled at him, my breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Both of us were covered in white flakes and Peeta's cheeks were as pink as mine felt. We stood there for a few breaths, just staring at each other as the snow fell all around us, neither of us making a move.

Finally, the rage built up inside of me burst and I started yelling at him. "What, do you want to hear more? You haven't heard enough? God, what is your problem? Do you just-just follow me everywhere and spy on me? Huh?" I pushed against his chest with both of my hands, and he stumbled backwards slightly. "Huh? What the hell do you want from me?"

His look on his face was both hurt and confused. "Katniss…I wasn't spying on you. I just-"

"Just what? Why were you in the confessional then? Why were you pretending to be a priest?"

Peeta took a deep breath and sort of smiled, which infuriated me further. "Um, Katniss, I wasn't in the priest's booth. You were."

"What?"

"I was sitting in the booth waiting for Father O'Sullivan to come in, and instead, you ran in and, um, just started talking," he said sheepishly, barely looking me in the eye.

"Wait, what?"

"You know, Father O'Sullivan and I have been meeting for a while. He served in the Great War and we've been talking about my, uh, issues since coming back home. And he suggested a confession, and I was waiting for him and instead I got you."

I was stunned. Since running out of church, I had convinced myself that Peeta was some sort of creep who followed girls around, but the whole thing was my fault. I could feel my cheeks turning bright red, and not just from the cold. I couldn't have imagined a more embarrassing moment in all my life. "So, alright then." I shrugged my shoulders and turned around, marching back towards home through the snow.

"Wait!" Peeta grabbed my elbow once again, but I couldn't bring myself to face him. "Did you mean what you said?" he asked.

Was he really asking me that? "What, that I, um, did impure stuff-" This was seriously the last conversation I ever wanted to have.

"No, not that. Although that's a nice thought," he smirked, and I rolled my eyes. "I meant, that you love me."

I kept my eyes down, kicking at the snow mounds around my ankles. I didn't say anything.

"Katniss, answer me."

"I don't know, ok? I'm not good at this sort of thing, Peeta."

He took a step closer and raised my chin up with his finger. "You don't have to say anything else if you don't want. But…I just want to know if you feel the way I do. If you feel this thing between us. Because I do." He was mere inches away from my face now.

I took a deep breath and threw my arms out in desperation. "I don't know. I don't know what love looks like, ok?" I had to look away from his prying eyes and focused instead on the snow on my ankles. "But I like you. I like spending time with you. And I think about you a lot. So, maybe that's a start?"

Before I could say another word, he sealed my words with a kiss, a soft gentle kiss that made me lose my breath. His cool, chapped lips moved against mine and before I knew it, I was lost in him, throwing my arms around his neck and letting him pull me close against his damp wool coat. He tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss, pulling me even closer and almost off the ground, and I let out a small moan at the motion. This seemed to spurn us both on as the kiss grew deeper and more desperate, our hands roaming over our faces and backs, his tongue tentatively entering my mouth at first and then exploring further. I wanted to taste him fully, and I couldn't get close enough as I clung to his strong arms wrapped around me. The snow fell around us in dusty clouds and I could taste the flakes along with his delicious lips.

This was nothing like those sweet kisses in my kitchen. This was nothing but pure passion.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, yet not long enough, Peeta pulled back just enough so that our noses touched and sighed. "I think we're off to great start," he said and we both smiled.

He rubbed my hands up and down my arms. "Katniss, you're shivering. It's freezing out here. Come on, I live just over there." He grabbed my mittened hands and lead me through the snow. I followed on unsteady legs, unsure of whether they were numb from the cold or from Peeta's kisses.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xo

Peeta lived just around the corner from the church, in the basement portion of a 2-flat that he rented from the widow who lived upstairs. We walked around the back of the flat the best we could through the snow, and I saw that someone must have shoveled the sidewalk before. At the back of the house was a set of stairs going down to the entrance to the basement, and Peeta stepped around me to go down first, extending me his hand with a smile. I gingerly went down and clung to his hand, trying not to slide down the steep snow-covered steps.

Peeta stomped his feet right outside the door and I followed suit, and then stepped inside. I didn't realize how cold I was until I entered the warmth inside. Peeta's apartment was small and sparsely decorated, dark yet still cozy. A few pieces of furniture – an old couch, a kitchen table with mismatched chairs, a radio sitting on an old bureau – fit into the small space, with a galley kitchen in one corner and a wooden door (the bedroom, perhaps?) off to the side. Paintings and sketches were nailed randomly on the walls, and I wondered if they were Peeta's.

Peeta pulled a chair out from the kitchen and directed me to sit down. He bent down and started untying my shoes silently, tossing them by the front door. He put his hands on my bare knees, and grinned up at me, shyly but genuine. I suddenly wanted to run my fingers through his blond waves and I had to physically clench my fists to stop them from doing so. Peeta stood up and extended his hand once again, helping me up.

"Come on, let's get you over by the radiator to warm up," he said, guiding me across the room towards the radiator. He knelt down to open the radiator vents more, and the radiator responded with a giant hiss and pop. I stood paralyzed; I had never been alone with a man in his own home, and I felt incredibly self-conscious.

Peeta either didn't notice my nerves or was ignoring them, for he stood up and started undressing me out of my coat and hat, placing them over a chair in front of the radiator to dry. He took one long look up and down my body, and I pulled my arms over my stomach. Although I was wearing my warmest skirt and sweater, they were both worn and not as warm as they used to be.

"Hang on," Peeta told me, and he disappeared into what I assumed was the bedroom. He returned carrying a stack of clothes. "Here," he said, handing me the bundle. "They'll be a little big, but should keep you warm."

I stared up at Peeta, not sure what to say. He cleared his throat. "Why don't you change and I'll be back. I promised Mrs. Alberts I would shovel for her, it's part of my rent," he winked at me. He threw his boots back on and grabbed a shovel posted by the back door. He shot me another smile and then disappeared into the white outdoors.

Once alone, I examined the pile Peeta had handed me. It was a pair of flannel pajamas, a matching pair of pants and button down shirt in red plaid. I snuck into Peeta's bedroom to change, closing the door behind me in case he returned early.

Peeta's bedroom was very plain, simply a bed and dresser, both of which looked like they belonged to him as a boy. A few pictures littered the dresser top, of him and his father, and one of all three Mellark brothers smiling handsomely in their uniforms. I noted not one picture of his mother, and I couldn't help but smile. In the corner, there was an easel and a stack of canvases. I wanted to sneak a peek at what he was working on, but thought better of it. I was already intruding so much into his private world.

Peeta had also given me a pair of socks, so I put those on first before pulling off my skirt. I looked around the room and felt awkward as I undressed in a boy's room. It made me giggle; if I thought I needed confession last night, surely today was going to be no better, not after making out in the church courtyard and then wearing Peeta's clothes. I pulled the strings on the pajama pants as tight as I could, and then rolled the top down so it fit tighter on my hips. They still hung loose and pooled on the tops of my feet, but my legs automatically felt better. I pulled off my own sweater and turned around to pull on the pajama top when I caught myself in the mirror that hung above the dresser. I pulled my arms down for a moment and turned my body to the side. My simple white brassiere was almost unnecessary for my slight frame. I would never be one of those girls with curves that men craved. My body was too thin and scrawny, and I dragged a finger across my bony ribcage. I pushed my breasts up slightly in my palms, trying to make them something they're not, and then I let them fall with a sigh. Who am I kidding, I thought. I may want Peeta, but what could he possibly see in me?

"What am I even doing here?" I asked myself under my breath as I pulled the shirt over my head. It fell almost to my knees, and looking in the mirror, I realized that I looked like a little boy in his father's clothes. I then realized that my once tightly wound braid was loose all over, so I pulled it out and borrowed the black comb sitting on the dresser. It was still slightly damp from all the snow, so I decided to keep it down and let it air dry for a while. I took one last look at the room and shut the door.

When I came out of the room, I could hear the sound of the metal shovel hitting the sidewalk above me and knew that Peeta was still at work outside. I snuck into the kitchen and, noticing a teapot sitting on the stove, decided to make some tea for Peeta when he came back in. I started digging through his cabinets, and the next thing I knew, I was boiling tea, stirring a can of Campbell's soup on the stove, and cutting thick slices of bread to make salami sandwiches. Once I put on Peeta's pajamas, I guess I felt like I should make myself at home.

The apartment felt too quiet, so I turned on the radio and started humming along to the songs. I soon found myself singing aloud as I happily put lunch together.

_Haven't felt like this, my dear  
Since I can't remember when  
It's been a long, long time_

_You'll never know how many dreams_  
_I've dreamed about you_  
_Or just how empty they all seemed without you_  
_So kiss me once, then kiss me twice_  
_Then kiss me once again_  
_It's been a long, long time_

I was so caught up with making food and enjoying myself that, when I happened to look up, I saw Peeta leaning against the doorway in the kitchen, staring at me like I was a vision. I gasped and jumped a bit, suddenly feeling very silly for puttering about his kitchen in plaid pajamas.

"I'm, I'm sorry, I just thought you might want a bite to eat." I started pulling my hair together into a braid, afraid that its messy look would turn Peeta away even more. But Peeta stepped towards me and stopped my hands.

"Leave it. I like it down." He smoothed my hair back down around my shoulders. "You have a beautiful voice, Katniss."

I blushed and looked down. I held out the bottom of the pajama top. "You like my new outfit?" I smiled, trying to make light of the situation.

Peeta smiled and leaned forward, kissing me on the ear. "You've never looked more stunning," he whispered. When he pulled back, the look he gave me made my breath catch in my throat. He grabbed the sides of my hips lightly and drew me closer to him. I placed my hands on his chest. "I can't believe you're here," he said quietly, and then he leaned in for a gentle kiss.

This time, I felt more prepared for the kiss, and I moved my lips against his. The kiss turned from gentle to passionate in no time at all, and before I knew it, we picked up just where we left off outside the church. Peeta pushed me slowly backwards until my back hit the counters, causing us both to gasp and then smile through our kisses. I could feel almost every inch of his firm body through the thin fabric of the pajamas, and I pulled him closer. The kisses grew, more and more, our hands explored all over each other's backs and arms, and then Peeta pulled back to trail his mouth down my cheek, behind my ear, and down my neck, causing me to gasp again and cling to the back of his neck.

I tugged on the blond hairs at the nape of his neck and brought his mouth back my lips. His tongue found mine, and our mouths and tongues danced together, never quite getting enough. My insides felt like they were on fire, and I thought to myself, I don't care about sins or morals or what anyone thinks, I've never wanted anything else so much in my life. I felt something hard twitch against my thigh, as though it was trying to break through, and I suddenly understood what Annie had told me about the mechanics of sex. Did this mean that Peeta was enjoying me as much as I was enjoying him? My body responded automatically with a hip thrust, as if I had no control over its impulses. Peeta groaned, and I smiled at the effect I had on him, thrusting once more towards him. If touching myself last night had felt good, the thought of Peeta touching me, especially with whatever was poking me through his pants, was beyond exciting.

Suddenly Peeta pulled away and rested his forehead on my shoulder. "We should stop," he breathed.

"What, why? Did I do something wrong?" I asked, embarrassed. Maybe I was a bad kisser? Maybe Peeta didn't really want me.

"No, not at all. Just the opposite, actually," he smiled at me and kissed the tip of my nose. "We just, um, if we keep going like this, I'm not going to be able to stop."

"Oh," I said, looking down and biting my lip. I didn't realize that I could have _that_ kind of effect on Peeta, and it made me wonder if I wanted him to stop at all.

He picked my chin up with his index finger and kissed the top of my nose. "Come on, let's eat. This looks delicious."

I laughed. "It's soup from a can and a sandwich. This is about as good as my cooking skills get." Peeta laughed too and grabbed the plates from the counter, placing them on the kitchen table. He pulled a chair out for me, and I sat down, allowing him to push it back in for me. I smiled to myself, thinking how cute his whole chivalry act was. He came back with two glasses of milk, placing one in front of me and clinking it with his.

"Bon appétit, ma chérie."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo xoxoxoxo

Lunch lasted much longer than I thought it, hours in fact. After a few awkward silent bites, and an even more awkward drop of mustard on my chin, we started talking and laughing and finally enjoying each other's company. I was terrified that Peeta would want to talk about what happened at church that morning, or worse, talk about all the kissing we've been doing lately, but he was a perfect gentleman. He seemed to want to know everything about me, from my favorite color to growing up with Prim to how to wait tables. Out of all of our "dates," this one felt the most comfortable. No one looking at us with a smirk knowing that we were out together, no pressure to dress up or how much Peeta was spending on me. Just the two of us, in his apartment, talking and eating and being together.

Eventually, the plates were cleaned of everything but the last crumbs, and Peeta and I found ourselves sitting quietly. I didn't want to leave. Everything felt so warm and welcoming, and I suddenly realized how lonely I truly was. This whole time, I had been fighting Peeta, fighting bringing him into my life, but sitting here, in his cozy little apartment, chatting over bowls of soup, I realized that I wanted to be here. That I wanted whatever it was that Peeta had been offering me these past few weeks. I didn't want to leave and bear the lonely walk back home, back to my lonely life of work and commuting and raising Prim. I wanted to wrap myself up in Peeta's strong arms and stay here forever.

But I looked up and reality hit. The clock on the wall already said 3:30; if I didn't leave now, I would have to walk home in the snow after dark. I had allowed myself a fantasy all afternoon, of being here with Peeta and not having to face the world and its problems. But that wasn't my life. I folded my napkin and started to stand up, Peeta following suit.

The radio was still playing in the background, a soft big band instrumental. Peeta reached for my hand. "Dance with me?" he asked.

"I should get going."

"Just one dance? I only got one last time, and I think I'm due a few more," Peeta said with a flirty smile.

"Well, technically, it was two songs, so that's two dances…" I teased back.

Peeta responded by grabbing me by the waist and pulling me close to him, clasping my right hand in his left. "You've been counting, Ms. Everdeen? Will you allow one more?"

"I'll allow it," I said quietly. He started swaying us to the music ever so slightly, and I honestly wasn't sure if this was dancing or just holding each other very close. Peeta stared intently at me, and I allowed myself to get lost in those blue eyes, the blond hairs slipping off his forehead, the stubble growing on his cheeks. Peeta leaned in for a kiss, gentle exploring my lips and mouth once again. This kiss seemed to say a thousand words that we couldn't say to one another. It wasn't rushed or passionate; it was a promise of something more, something I had admitted in the confessional but was too scared to say out loud. I was falling in love with Peeta Mellark and my lips couldn't form the words, but they could kiss the words to him.

Peeta eventually pulled away. "I know you probably have to go, get back to Prim, right?" I nodded and Peeta smiled sadly. "Let me at least walk you home. I'll be back, I'm going to see if I need to shovel again." He started pulling on his boots and coat by the backdoor.

I nodded again and sat back down to wait. "I'll just change and get ready." Peeta nodded in response and walked out the basement door. I caught a quick glimpse over his head and realized that the snow was still coming down quite heavy. The apartment had no windows, save a couple of ceiling level small ones, so we hadn't watched the weather at all. I better get going, I thought to myself.

I walked towards the bedroom to change back into my clothes just as I heard Peeta come back in and close basement door. I called out, "How bad is it? Should I just wear these pants home? Of course, I'd have a lot of explaining to do when I got back!" I didn't hear Peeta respond. "Peeta? Are you there?"

I came out holding my clothes to see Peeta standing in the doorway, snow all over his hair and shoulders. "Um, Katniss, I don't think you need to worry about changing."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"I think we're snowed in."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_I am a mean, mean person. I am so sorry that I left all of you hanging for so long! I've had a lot of shit going on in my personal life, and it just took all of my attention. PM me or message me on tumblr (malibustacywriting) if you want to chat or vent or yell at me for being such a mean fanfic writer. On second thought, no yelling please. _

_This chapter was meant to be longer (and smuttier) but I thought it was best to just update than to leave you all hanging any longer. Enjoy and more to come!_

"What do you mean, snowed in?" I asked. I felt my body break out into a sweat.

Peeta started shaking the snow off his coat as he draped it over a chair. "I mean, it's way too deep out there. It's a white out, you can barely see anything out there. The snow's up to my thighs, you're not walking home in that."

"Peeta, I have to go, I'll pay for the bus or something-"

Peeta cut me off by gripping my shoulders and staring hard into my face. "Katniss, I looked outside. There buses aren't moving. People have abandoned their cars on the street. I could barely get around the house. You have to stay."

"Don't be ridiculous, Peeta, I've walked home in snow before. I have to get back to Prim and my mom – what if my mom isn't home?" I start pulling on my coat to show Peeta how serious I am, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

"Katniss, this is serious. You can't go out there. It's at least over a mile to your house, and you could get hurt. It's not worth it."

"I'll be the judge of that," I tell him as I slip my shoes on. In one swift step I open the basement door and start walking out.

And then I realize that Peeta was right. The entire city was white, and I could barely see the house next door. The wind was howling sharply, and I had to grip on the cement walls to make it up the stairs. But I was determined to prove Peeta wrong anyways. My feet slipped several times, and by the time I made to the top, the wind blew against me so hard that I lost my balance and fell backwards down the stairs.

Peeta was right behind me and caught me; he had followed me even after I had ignored his pleas and stormed out into the blizzard. After seeing things for myself, I let him carry me back inside. I couldn't see a thing and the wind was literally blowing my body around. I would just have to wait it out.

Peeta pulled me back into the apartment and plopped me down, brushing the snow off of his shoulders. His face, however, was not wearing its usual lighthearted smile. "Happy now, Little Miss Stubborn? I wasn't lying to you."

"Sorry, I just don't like being told what to do."

"So I've noticed," he chuckled and he seemed to relax a bit. "Why don't you call Prim and make sure she's ok. I need to go around and see if I can get to Mrs. Alberts, make sure she doesn't need anything." And he disappeared into the white mess outdoors.

I looked around and found Peeta's phone next to the radio. I called our house first, but there was no answer. I started to get nervous that perhaps Prim was out with friends and stuck somewhere where I couldn't find her. I immediately called the Hawthornes next door, and Rory answered. "Don't worry, Prim's over here with us. We were studying when the storm picked up and Mom won't let her leave."

I then spoke to Prim, reminding her to stay where she was until I could get home. She informed me that my mom was already at the hospital, working her shift and most likely working all through the night anyways. Storms always brought a ton of patients to the hospital.

"Where are you, Katniss?" she asked.

"Umm, I'm, umm, with Peeta. At his place." I really didn't want to tell Prim where I was, but I didn't want her to worry. She already thought the world of Peeta, so I figured his presence would calm her worries about me.

"Oh! Well, that's good!" Prim said surprised.

"Ok, so I'll see you when I can."

"Have fun, Katniss!" she said in a sing-song voice.

"Prim-" I started to scold.

"I'm not saying anything, just telling you to have _fun_ for once in your life! And I want to hear all the dirty details later."

"Prim!"

"Good bye Katniss! Say hello to _Peeta_ for me!" The way she emphasized his name made me realize that my little sister may know more about the birds and the bees than I did at her age. I hung up the phone and hid my face in my hands. Now my little sister and the entire Hawthorne family knew where I was, and potentially had ideas about what I was doing with Peeta. Just great.

And just what _was_ I going to do with Peeta, I asked myself.

Peeta returned, stomping his boots once again on the soggy doormat. "Sorry about that, I can't get into her house from here, only through her front door. But she's ok. Her son is there, and is staying until the storm passes, so at least she has some company. Is Prim ok?"

I nodded, very self-conscious and uncomfortable. It was one thing to have lunch with Peeta here, but now I was stuck here indefinitely. How much had changed since that morning, when I was plotting to avoid Peeta for the rest of my life.

Peeta hung up his coat and kicked off his boots, walking over to join me in the kitchen again. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, his tell-tale sign of nervousness. "So, what do you want to do now?"

I shrugged and started biting at my cuticles. Why was I nervous all of a sudden? Sitting with Peeta at lunch had felt comfortable, but now?

"Well, what do you normally do here, when you're by yourself?" I asked.

"I don't usually spend time here, to be honest," Peeta admitted. "I'm usually either working or sleeping. Sometimes I paint."

"Paint?"

"Yeah, I, uh, like to paint. Different things. Nothing special."

I stood up and walked over to some of the paintings that hung on the apartment walls. "Are these your paintings?"

"Yes."

Peeta stayed behind me as I walked along the room, looking at each painting. There were small, some on canvas, some on thick sheets of paper simply nailed to the wall. There were pictures of stone bridges with medieval buildings in the background, a dark lush forest thick with pine trees, a gothic church illuminated at night. "Did you see these places, in Europe?"

Peeta sighed. "Yeah, I did. It's what in my dreams most nights."

"They're beautiful," I said, and they were. Peeta was very talented. Each picture perfectly captured a place and time that was far, far away from the cold winters in Chicago. The way he painted these scenes made them seem majestic, almost like pictures in a fairy tale book. "You're dreams seem nice," I joked.

Peeta sighed. "That's because I don't hang up the other ones."

"What other ones?" I asked, still staring closely at a picture of a blue-green river running through the middle of a town.

"I dream about the war, a lot. And then I wake up and I paint what I dream. And most of the time, it isn't pretty like these."

I turned around. Peeta's face was cast down and I could tell that this was really difficult for him. I walked over to him and linked my hand in his, causing him to look up at me surprised. "Show me," I told him. He didn't respond. "Will you show me?"

Peeta didn't say anything, instead leading me into the bedroom. I gulped when I entered, trying to not look at the bed and think about the being with Peeta in this of all rooms. He pulled the cloth covering the floor in the corner of the room, and I realized that it hid a large stack of canvases.

I knelt down and started looking through the paintings, one by one. Peeta should have warned me for what I was about to see. A man with his stomach torn open, blood everywhere eyes pleading for help. A German soldier aiming a gun directly at you, looking almost like a younger version of Peeta, all blond hair and teenage youth. Looking out from a dugout, seeing shadowy figures moving through the forest. A sight from up high in the air, what I assumed Peeta saw from being a paratrooper, only the some of the other parachutes were covered in blood, their passengers heads hung limp.

"Oh, Peeta," I sighed. I had no idea that this is what he saw, every night, even now that the war was over.

He stayed standing behind me. "I've never shown anyone these before, but I thought, well…what do you think?"

"I hate them."

I didn't mean for the words to come out like that, but I did. I hated the pictures. They were all full of horrid images that sweet-natured Peeta shouldn't have to see. "I mean, they're good, you're very talented. But Peeta, the images are just…awful."

I turned my head to look at him. "Does it help?"

He shrugged. "Sort of. Sometimes I have a difficult time determining what's real and what's not real. And painting reminds me that it was real, once, but that it's gone now. As if it gets out of my head if I paint it on canvas. It's the worst things that are the hardest to paint, though."

I stood up and reached for his hand. "What's the worst thing you saw?" I asked Peeta. "Maybe, if you say it out loud, it won't be so real anymore."

Peeta didn't respond, just took a deep breath in. I wanted so badly to help him, to help him move past the war and instead be here, with me, right here and now. I repeated myself. "What's the absolute worst thing?"

Peeta sighed. "The worst thing I remember is sitting there, eating breakfast next to my good friend, who was dead. And I didn't care because I was so used to it."

I was stunned. I had expected him to say something about a man getting blown up or having to kill someone. But what Peeta spoke of was something all together different.

"That's the worst part of war, Katniss. When you start to lose your humanity."

Then, Peeta started talking. A lot. We sat on the floor of his bedroom, our backs both propped against his bed, our fingers intertwined, and I listened while Peeta spoke, looking straight ahead. He told me about joining the army with both of his brothers the day after Pearl Harbor, standing in line with hundreds of other young men. He wanted to serve his country, he told me. He felt like it was his duty. He was 17.

He told me about saying good-bye to his parents, only days after they said good-bye to his two brothers, off to join the Marines in the Pacific. His father looked at his with watery eyes and shook his hand. His mother assumed he won't be coming home.

He told me about training, about drill sergeants and shaved heads. He told me about the ship on the way to England, where he was seasick almost the entire trip. He told me about jumping out of planes, of the fear he had right before each jump, and the feeling of fleeting bliss he had while gliding down to the earth.

He told me about D-Day, of landing in complete darkness behind enemy lines, carrying 100 pounds of equipment, ending up miles away from the designated drop zone and scrambling with other confused men to carry out a mission they didn't completely understand. Fighting Germans, who seemed to be even younger than he was, but whose guns kept blazing towards his face. Of the mud, the sweat, the cold, the fear, the blood, the dying. How it never seemed to end. Of coming to the beach and seeing thousands of dead and injured and not knowing where the blood ended and the sea started. Of having to leave to go into battle for months and months on end after that. And at the end, when it was all over, wondering what he was going to do with himself. The only training he got after high school was how to jump out of planes and how to kill.

I listened and listened, not wanting to interrupt. I got the feeling that Peeta had not said one word to anyone about the war until now. When he was done, and the night sky had taken over the room, I leaned my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I whispered.

"For what? Listening to me ramble for about three hours?" Peeta laughed.

"For sharing that with me. Thank you."

Peeta kissed the top of my head. "Thank you for listening. No one's ever asked me about the war. It's like they want you to come back and pretend like nothing happened."

"Well, I'm here. And I'll listen. I'm better at listening anyways." I smiled. "Do you have any funny stories? We should end on a good note."

Peeta laughed. "Umm, well, after the war, I signed up to play football. American football. In our spare time there were teams getting set up, and I got myself on the Army football team. I played in high school, did you know that?" I shook my head. Peeta was the one who had noticed me around the neighborhood, not the other way around. "What no one told me was that there were guys from Notre Dame and U of I on those teams. All it took was one quarter before I was black and blue from getting hit by these guys.

"So I told them I would ref. Here, I have a picture. We played in Nuremburg, in the same stadium where Hitler gave all those speeches." He pulled a bent photograph out of his dresser drawer. There was Peeta, his hair wavy in the wind, a whistle in his mouth, running alongside a bunch of oversized men playing football. I could tell that he was really proud of this, that this was one of the few moments in the war that he could look back fondly on.

I smiled up at him. "I could tell why you got knocked around. Those guys were huge!"

Peeta grabbed the photo back. "Hey, I held my own for that one quarter! They just knew how to hit a guy hard enough to make him see stars." He patted my knee, obviously in a better mood. "Come on, I'll make you dinner."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The rest of the night was relaxed and easy, compared to our long talk about the war. Peeta seemed calmer and happier, and I was glad to relief some of his anxiety, if only for a night. We sipped hot chocolate from large mugs and listened to the radio tell us about the wintery mess outside. The whole city had shut down, people had abandoned their cars, and everyone was being told to stay put for the night until the storm ended. And the snow outside just kept falling in huge flakes, trapping us all inside.

Eventually my eyelids started to get droopy and I leaned my head on Peeta's shoulder. I felt him smile and kiss the top of my head.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I remember is Peeta lightly shaking my shoulders. "Katniss," he said. "It's late, we should get some sleep."

"Mmmm," I moaned, not wanting to move from my comfortable cocoon underneath Peeta's warm arm.

"Come on, you'll get a sore neck if you stay here," he said, sitting both of us. I let him pull me off the small loveseat and guide me towards the bedroom. It was then that I started to wake up and realized what was happening. I was going to have to spend the night. With Peeta. In the same bed. My heart started beating faster and my legs turned to mush.

Peeta started pulling back the covers of the bed. I cleared my throat. "Um, where, I mean, how, um, what do you want to do about-"

Peeta smiled. "Don't worry, I'm a gentleman, as much as I don't want to be. I'm taking the floor."

"No, Peeta, that's not fair," I started to protest. But Peeta was already arranging a pillow and blankets on the floor next to the bed.

"I insist. It's my house and you're my guest, and I want you to be comfortable. Besides, the floor doesn't bother me. Trust me, I've slept in worse places."

Peeta's words didn't make me feel any less guilty about sleeping in his bed while he was stuck on the hard floor. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Sometimes I wondered if he was more stubborn than I was, just in a much subtler way.

I heard the wooden floors creak as Peeta settled in on the floor next to me, and I felt guilty as I cocooned myself under his warm quilt. I jumped when Peeta leaned up to pull the cord on the lamp sitting on his nightstand. He chuckled quietly and laid back down. I could barely make him out in the darkness, the only sound our breathing and the wind whipping across the streets of Chicago outside.

"Good night, Katniss," he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Good-good night, Peeta," I replied and then buried my awkwardness deeper into his pillows. They smelled like him, of cinnamon and flour and a man's musk, and somehow, the sound of his steady breathing on the floor next to me lulled me to sleep.

_FYI, what Peeta said about the worst memory of war is exactly what my grandfather (a WWII vet) told me, word for word. As I said before, I based a lot of how Katniss and Peeta met on my grandparents, and I'm using his experiences during the war to inspire Peeta's._

_Also, I based this snowstorm on the 1967 snowstorm in Chicago that shut the city down. I'm too young to have experienced that one, but the one in 2011 was a close second. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_OK folks, I know it has been a very long time since I updated. I truly am sorry. But I promise everyone that I have not, and will not, abandon The Blind Date. I actually have the whole thing mapped out to the end, so it WILL have a conclusion at some point – and actually, we're still only about half way there. :)_

_As for why it took me so long, I had some family and personal problems that happened to me in the last few months, and if you visit my tumblr page (malibustacywriting) I'll share with everyone what's been going on. I love my readers and love all your reviews and kudos, so thank you for reading and sticking around even during my hiatus. I may not have time to respond to every review, but know that I read them all and love your comments!_

_And now…hold onto your panties, I think this is the chapter you all have been waiting for. _

I was walking down a darkened street, and I couldn't see a thing around me. I could hear my heels clicking on the cobblestones, and I kept turning my head from side to side, trying to see through the thick fog. Then I realized that it wasn't fog but smoke, angry black smoke, and I started to cough heavily. It burned my mouth and throat, and I had to bend over to keep from fainting. But I kept going.

In the distance, I saw the steel plant, where my father used to work. It was engulfed in flames, much like it was that day years ago. I started running towards the plant, but my feet couldn't move, as if I was stuck in quicksand. I kept lifting up my heavy legs but they wouldn't move. People around me were running away from the fire and I kept chugging forward, trying desperately to make my legs move. Finally I tripped and fell over onto my hands and knees.

"Katniss," I heard someone call my name. I looked up and it was my father. He was standing in front of the plant and beckoning me to come to him. I tried to get up but couldn't. I was stuck, the mud of the streets clinging to my body like thick oil. I called his name over and over, begged him to run away from the fire, but he didn't. He just stood there, with his arms open, as if waiting for me to run into his arms for a giant bear hug, allowing the flames to rise around him. "Katniss," he said again. But I couldn't move, and then he too burst into flames, his arms still open, a smile on his face, and I screamed. I screamed and screamed and he literally disintegrated before my eyes into a pile of ash.

The next thing I knew, I was being lifted in the air and shaken gently. "Katniss? Katniss, wake up!" I could hear a voice calling me out of my dream, but I didn't want to leave. He was there, he was right there and I couldn't save him. It was just like that day all over again. "Daddy!" I screamed again and again and when I opened my eyes I realized it wasn't my father saying my name anymore, but a very worried Peeta, his arms clutching my shoulders and forcing my half-awake body to sit up. I looked up into his face, where lines of concern were crisscrossing his forehead and I flung my head on his shoulder.

"No, no, no, no," I shook my head violently, trying to get the image out of my head. Peeta pulled me close, almost onto his lap, and rubbed my back in small circles, shushing me and telling me that it was ok. He started an almost gentle rock, like I was a small child, and I started to calm my breath, inhaling his scent deeply. I turned my head to the side and breathed onto his neck, noticing for the first time that I must have been crying, for his undershirt was wet. I lifted my head and started to wipe at the wet spot.

"I got your shirt all wet," I whispered.

"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "Hey, do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head and went back to leaning against his shoulder. He sighed and rubbed my back again. "You scared me. I woke up to you screaming and thrashing around the bed," he said. "And here I was worried that I would be the one waking you up with my nightmares."

I had to laugh, leaning back to wipe at my cheeks. Peeta lifted my chin with his palm and placed a gentle kiss to my lips. He felt so soft and warm, and his slightly chapped lips moved once more before pulling away, stroking my loose hair around my ears.

"Here," he said, leaning back against the pillows and pulling me down with him. "Lie back and try to get some sleep."

He started to move his arm out from under my neck, but I grabbed his shirt with my fist and prevented him from getting up. I wanted nothing more than to stay in his secure arms for the rest of the night, especially after the horrors my mind had conjured up.

"Stay with me?" I asked him, looking up at him through the darkened room.

"Always." And he leaned back, pulled the covers up around us, and I started to drift off into a deep sleep once more, resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his. I heard him sigh deeply, and then I was out.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The light barely shone through the pulled drapes when I next opened my eyes. I had to take a minute to figure out my surroundings, and I realized that somewhere in the middle of the night, my innocent position in Peeta's arms had turned downright obscene. Each of us were on our sides, Peeta behind me, his arms around me, my thighs intertwined with his, and my bottom – I jolted, realizing what the hard object jutting up against me was. Peeta was there, not him, but _it. _And it wasn't just touching my behind, it was _right there_, in between my legs.

I panicked for a moment, trying not to move or wake up Peeta. I held my breath and waited for him to make a move, but he didn't. I was stuck under his warm arms and, well, _him._

It felt good. I couldn't help the blush that appeared across my face as I realized that I _liked_ having him in between my thighs. It felt comfortable yet daring at the same time, and I started to imagine what it would be like if he went further, inside of me, like how the girls at work said it happened. I had never paid much attention, but now… The thought sent warm chills through my body and I felt myself get aroused, just like when I touched myself that night. I wondered what it would feel like if instead of my fingers Peeta used himself to touch me.

Then, it happened. It was completely involuntary and embarrassing, but it happened. In the middle of all of these thoughts, my hips pushed back against his. Peeta's breath sucked in for a moment, and I stilled myself, horrified that my body had worked against me. Then, he pushed back, moaning softly under his breath.

I held my breath, and then, gently, pushed back towards him. He responded by pushing towards me again, this time moving his hardness deftly in and out of my thighs. I smiled to myself and thought, why not, because damn that felt good.

Slowly, we started moving in sync with one another, back and forth, in and out, his arms still wrapped around mine. What started as gently nudging was growing, as well the wetness between my thighs. I didn't even care that I could feel my panties and his pajama bottoms becoming soaked, whatever was happening between Peeta and me was too good to stop now.

But just as I was about to pull his neck down towards me, he froze. Peeta cleared his throat and pulled away from me. "Ahem, sorry, s-sorry about that." I turned over onto my back and pulled the covers up over my chest as Peeta sat up against his side of the bed. I realized then that I was the only one awake, and Peeta must have been just responding to my body in a dream-like state. I blushed about 20 shades of red all at once.

"Um, it's ok," I squeaked out an answer. God, I wished the floor would just open up and swallow me. I could see Peeta trying to cover up his lap and adjust himself without me noticing. But how on earth was I not supposed to notice with the size of that thing?

"How are you feeling? Did you get any sleep?" he asked, not meeting my eyes.

"Yeah, a little." The truth was that I had never slept better than in his arms. No more nightmares had plagued me that night, and I felt more rested than I had in years.

"Good. Well, I can start breakfast, if you're hungry." I nodded, and Peeta pulled himself closer to me, giving me a little kiss on my forehead, my nose, and lightly on my lips, before pulling away slowly.

But I didn't want him to pull away. Suddenly, looking into his blue eyes, so full of concern and worry and something else – love? – suddenly the events of the last few weeks started to make sense. I had let Peeta in against my will, and I had allowed myself to be pulled alongside him, allowed him to charm me into dates and kisses. Everything up to this point had felt like a whirlwind, like I wasn't myself but a version of myself that only Peeta saw. I never gave myself a chance to really think about Peeta, about what he had become to me.

But now, now after last night, after the revelations of yesterday morning, after I had learned to trust him more and more with each meeting, with his breath on my forehead, it became clear.

I leaned forward to touch his lips to mine, just barely, our breaths hanging in a warm cloud around us. I felt Peeta jump slightly, since this was the first kiss that I gave him, the first one I had initiated. No other parts of our bodies were touching except our lips moved against one another, gaining more and more momentum as they explored one another.

I wanted more. I sat up more on my knees and flung my arms around his neck, and Peeta met me at the same time, pulling up on his knees and clinging me to him, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. Our kisses became more frantic, sloppy, and when his tongue entered my mouth slightly, I pushed mine out as well, tasting him over and over again. Our tongues and teeth crashed, and it didn't matter. I pushed my chest into his, still not close enough. I felt Peeta's hands move up from my waist along my sides, brushing the sides of my breasts, and the sensation made me gasp. Peeta moaned and started pushing me backwards until I hit the mattress.

And then his hands were everywhere, along my stomach, my sides, my chest, until they rested on the thin fabric on top of my breasts. I gasped even louder into Peeta's mouth and I felt him smile, and then resume, squeezing and caressing, flicking my hard nipple with his thumb. My breath became heavier and I told him how much I liked what he was doing by kissing him harder and pulling on the blond hairs at the nape of his neck. Peeta moaned again and lifted up the edge of my pajama top, moving his fingertips across my bare stomach, up higher and higher, tickling my skin, until he reached my bare breast, and again repeated his exploration. And then, my shirt – really, his shirt – was thrown off over my head and Peeta's mouth replaced his hands, kissing the sides and the tops of my breasts, and then, tentatively, he engulfed my nipple into his mouth.

It was like nothing I had ever felt before, and I breathlessly whispered his name. His hand squeezed and rubbed my other breast while his mouth still licked and sucked, and then he switched, repeating the same glorious movement. I heard his whisper something about how perfect they were, and it made me blush. I had always been so ashamed of my chest, and thought it was flat and dull, not like most girls my age, who had curves all over. But Peeta didn't seem to mind; in fact, he treated my breasts as if they were the most delicious, beautiful things he had ever seen. It felt like heaven.

Peeta leaned up from my breasts and attacked my neck with the same vigor, nibbling on the soft spot right behind my earlobe, and I sighed again. My moment of clarity about Peeta was long gone, as was I, and I allowed myself to become lost in his kiss, his tongue, his breath, his chest heavy against mine. I ran my fingertips across the expanse of his back, and tentatively, with shaking fingers, gently touched the edges of where his undershirt had hitched up.

Suddenly, Peeta stopped. I automatically withdrew my hands from his waist. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" I stammered, but Peeta put his fingers on my lips stopping me.

"No, I should be the one apologizing. Katniss, I-" he stopped, sitting up against the bedframe. He ran his fingers through his hair. God, he looked so adorable and I couldn't stop staring at his mouth. "This isn't right, I'm not that kind of guy." He sighed. "I don't want to take advantage of you."

I thought about this for a moment, then in one swift move I flung my legs around his and straddled his lap. "You're not taking advantage of me. I want you. I want you to touch me."

"Katniss," he breathed, not looking me in the eye, yet obviously trying not to stare at my bare chest. "You-you don't know what you're asking for."

I had to laugh. And while there was a small part of me that knew Peeta was just trying to be a gentleman, the aching between my legs had fully taken over my brain. "Peeta, I'm an adult. I may not be very experienced, but I know what making love is. Now touch me."

Peeta stared into my eyes for a brief second and then he obeyed me, covering my mouth with his, covering my body with his hands that couldn't stop roaming. I grinded my hips into his and felt his hardness beneath me. Peeta let out a low moan, and this prompted me to continue rocking back and forth across him, rubbing into that spot over and over again.

Suddenly, Peeta grabbed me and flipped me over so he was on top of me again. Somehow, my pants were quickly swept off my body and he quickly rid himself of his undershirt. The feeling of our bare chests flushed together felt amazing, and I clung to him as he attacked my throat and chest with his hot mouth.

When he pulled back up, I noticed that his chest was sprinkled with blond hairs and I rubbed my fingers into them, exploring his chiseled chest. I felt something rough under my fingertips. I lightly traced the surface and realized that these were scars, battle scars from the war. They littered across his chest in various squiggles and scrawls, making his chest look like a jigsaw puzzle. Peeta placed his hand over mine and looked up to meet his face. He seemed to be silently asking me, begging me to accept me, and I responded by pressing a gentle kiss to each scar, causing him to sigh at each one.

"Katniss," he sighed, and pushed me slowly against the mattress once more. I reached up to remove his belt and unbuttoned his pants. I could feel his hardness beneath my hands, and I pulled back, startled by the size of it. Peeta smirked at me and went to pull down both his pants and boxers at the same time, allowing his length to spring out.

I gulped. Exactly how that, that _thing_ was supposed to go _there_ was suddenly, physically impossible. Peeta must have sensed my trepidation and he kissed me lightly.

"Hey, we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

I shook my head. "No, I want this, it's just…I've never done anything before," I whispered, hesitant to have even Peeta hear how inexperienced I was. Then, before he could answer, I realized that Peeta probably wasn't like me. I had to ask. "Have-have you?"

Peeta paused, and it immediately gave me my answer. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're asking." He paused again and studied my face. "Is that a problem?"

"No…" I said, and honestly thought about it for a moment. Of course he wasn't a virgin; he was a soldier after all, and single, and very good-looking. But the thought of him being with someone else like _this _ was jarring.

"If I could take it back, I would. They meant nothing to me, Katniss. All I want is you, and I wish now that this was my first time. I wish I could share that with you," he said quietly, his head hanging low.

Now it was my turn to feel upset. "No, don't be. It's not your fault. How could you know that we would meet?"

Peeta lifted his head and smiled at me. "No, I didn't know we would meet, but I thank God everyday that we did. You're the answer to my dreams. I love you, Katniss."

I smiled back and pulled him down towards me. I was done with words.

The feeling of our naked bodies pressed against one another was unbelievable, and we both took a moment to just feel each other. I rubbed my hands up and down his expansive back and unconsciously allowed my legs to open for him. Peeta took the opportunity to trail his fingers down my chest, my stomach, towards my thighs, exploring my body like a wondrous map, until he reached my panties. He quickly pulled them down my thighs and off at my ankles, then laid down next to me, his fingers tracing their way up my legs. I shuttered when he met my center, parting the lips and sinking his fingers into the flesh. "So wet," he whispered against my lips, and he covered my mouth with his for a deep kiss. He added another finger and kept rubbing, up and down, tickling and teasing the little bud that I had found a few days ago until I was grinding my hips against his hand. Peeta responded by dragging his mouth down my throat, behind my ears, on my collarbone, and then brought his head down to pull my nipple into mouth. The feeling kept building and building, stars behind my eyes, until finally I exploded, bucking and arching against him, making impossible noises that would no doubt embarrass me later.

When I came down from my high and sank once more against the bed, I looked up at a very curious, very happy Peeta. "How was that?" he asked.

"Um, amazing!" I sputtered and Peeta laughed, kissing me on the ear. "But, didn't you want to – I mean, shouldn't we do that…together?" I didn't really have the words to explain what I was thinking, but Peeta seemed to grasp the message.

"I didn't think you could, you know, during, since it's usually somewhat painful for women the first time, so I wanted to make sure you had a turn first," he blushed.

"Oh. Well, thank you?"

Peeta laughed and went back to kissing me, wrapping his arms around my head and leaning his body against mine. He felt so good, so impossibly good, and I still wanted even more from him.

I pulled away slightly and whispered into his mouth, "I'm ready." Peeta looked into my eyes and nodded, then sent his attention down towards my inner thighs. He pulled my knees up and spread my legs apart, and tentatively placed his tip at my entrance. The sight of his large, thick erection made me wonder where exactly it would fit, but I pushed the thought from my mind. This is it, I thought to myself. There's no turning back now. And while a month ago, the thought of being in this position would have caused me to panic, I felt surprising calm and sure of myself. This is what I wanted, what I needed. To be one with this amazing man.

"Ready?" Peeta asked again, and I nodded, wishing he would stop asking me permission already. He pushed forward and I was immediately filled up, stretched like I never thought I could be. Peeta pulled back and pushed in again, going further this time, and then repeated, until I felt a sharp stretch towards the back of my insides. I cringed for a moment, and Peeta pulled out, looking at me concerned. I nodded again, telling him that I was ok, and he went back inside of me, gently rocking back and forth as if not to hurt me, sighing my name against my cheek.

But it didn't hurt, not as much anyways, just felt strange and full and foreign. I lifted my hips towards his to spurn him on and he got the message, covering my hip with his palm and pushing faster this time. I moaned and he covered my mouth with his. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered into my mouth as he continued to pump into me. I placed my hands on his shoulders and biceps, and he grabbed one hand with his, placing over my head and interlinking his fingers with mine. Holding hands with him made me feel so close to him at that moment, and I brought my legs up around his thighs to get even closer.

Peeta began to move even more quickly against me, and he squeezed my hand tightly as his rhythm became more frantic. He turned his head to bury it in my neck, and I pulled his earlobe into my mouth. He moaned out and I could feel him getting even harder, if it were at all possible, moving slickly in and out. A few more jerks of his hips and he let out a loud cry, pushing his hips into me as far as he could, and I could feel him throb inside of me.

He stayed down in the nap of my neck for a moment, and then pulled his head up, smiling and sweaty.

"Wow," I whispered, trying to catch my breath.

"Yeah," said Peeta, breathing heavily. He placed all of his weight on his straightened arms and stared down at me.

"What?" I asked, giggling nervously. Was I not good enough? Was he comparing me to those other girls? How many exactly had there been? I was racking my brain trying to decipher what he was thinking when he asked me.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

I sighed, relieved. "Real. Very real." He kissed me deeply, cupping my face with his hands before pulling back and smiling wider than I have ever seen, his eyes lighting up with a happy glint in them. He then reached down and pulled himself out of me, and I gasped slightly at the loss of his width. The both of us were a sticky, wet mess, and Peeta stood up, holding up one finger to let me know that he would be right back. I had to giggle again at the sight of his still erect penis just hanging out there while he walked away naked. Men's bodies were definitely something I would have to get used to. He disappeared down the hall and I had a moment to myself.

The sheets were disheveled and half on the ground, and the light from outside was starting to fill the room through cracks between the curtains. I felt…different, satisfied, like I had finally experienced what other girls have. I started to wonder what the fuss was all about, why everyone tip-toed around sex like it was a dangerous, evil thing, when what I had just experienced was incredible. How could something so pleasurable, so _good_, be so wrong? Especially when I was in love with the man I shared it with. I smiled into the pillows, thinking that there was no better way to show my love than what we had just shared.

Peeta returned, carrying two damp washcloths. He handed one to me and I sat up to wipe myself, Peeta doing the same. No one had mentioned to me how _messy_ sex would be, I thought. When I was finished, I handed the washcloth back to Peeta, and instantly saw there was blood on it. I started to open my mouth to say something, embarrassed beyond belief, but Peeta stopped me. "It's normal, almost all women bleed the first time." I nodded, still embarrassed, but at least relieved that I hadn't gotten my monthly during sex. I noted to myself to look at a calendar and try to figure out my time so it wouldn't happen in the future.

Peeta then laid back down next me and grabbed me by the hips, pulling my back up to his chest and curling up behind me. We were right back where we had started this morning, naked this time, and I felt incredibly comfortable lying in his arms, feeling his semi-hard length behind me. He lightly pinched my upper arm and yelped loudly, rubbing the spot and pretending to be bruised.

"Just had to make sure this wasn't a dream," he laughed. "So, any regrets?" Peeta asked as he nuzzled the back of my neck.

"None," I replied, snuggling closer to him.

"No urges to run and confess everything to a priest?"

I chuckled. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm going straight to hell now anyways, so it's a little late for that. Besides," I said as I turned over in his arms, "I'd hate to have to go there every Saturday just to report the same sin over and over again."

Peeta smiled. "So I get to sin with you over and over again?" I nodded and smiled back. "Well, in that case…" and he flipped me over to have his way with me once more as the sun rose higher and higher against the snow-covered city.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

_I feel like I have to add this here - kids (and adults), please don't be like these two fools and use protection. They have an excuse because it's 1945. You don't._


End file.
